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03:06:01 UTC
“The good news is,” Zatanna said, hands clenching behind her back, “the spell only seems to have affected the Watchtower. All of our scans say it ends about ten feet out.”
Clark didn’t need to look at Bruce for the other man to pick up the report.
“All zetas have been suspended pending our investigation,” Bruce said, his voice a soft rumble across the conference table. Under the cowl, he looked no less enthused than normal. “There were no active zetas or external transports at the time of the spell’s initiation. Watchtower supply shipments have been temporarily halted. We have enough to last several months, if needed.”
Clark nodded, taking that in for a moment. His eyes flicked to the left, seeking out Diana’s empty chair on instinct. “And the bad news?”
Zatanna made a micro expression Clark was certain only he could have picked up on. “It’s a full ship.”
“How many?” Clark asked, turning to Bruce. Next to him, Dinah shifted in her seat, eyes down on her lap.
“385 souls,” Bruce said, expressionless. “Founders, JL members, junior members, and support staff.”
“Holy fuck,” Oliver said from next to Dinah, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up. “And if they fall asleep, they what? Die?”
“They fall into a coma,” Zatanna said, hands still clenched at the small of her back. “We won’t be able to wake them up without the spell ending. That’s the goal, as far as we can determine — to pick us off one by one before we can find a solution.”
“So get magicking,” Ollie said, letting out a nervous chuckle. “We can hold out for, what, — two, three days? I’m sure you can find something by then.”
“This isn’t just about finding a counter spell,” Zatanna said, lips pressing together. Clark didn’t miss the way she glanced at Bruce out of the corner of her eye. “It’s about finding a counterspell strong enough to work and wake people up from the coma, all at once.”
“We’re not going to fall asleep,” Arthur said gravely. The Atlantean leaned back in his chair, regal as ever. “You can count on us.”
“You metas always say that.” Zatanna gave the room a suspicious look. “I’ve seen you without sleep. There’s other reasons to pass out than just the body needing rest.”
“We’ll hold up,” Clark said, because there was no other choice. They would do what they had to. “How long do you need, Z?”
Zatanna, to her credit, didn’t look hopeless. “As much time as you can buy me. Put on some scary movies or something — you’ve got kids up here. You need to keep everyone awake as long as possible, to reduce the power needed for the counterspell.”
As one, the room turned to Bruce, waiting for his inevitable comment. Besides Oliver, he was the only non-meta or powered League member at the table. The realization had never been so stark, before this.
You’ve got kids up here.
Bruce’s entire family, save Alfred, was currently on the Watchtower. Clark held back a wince, wondering if it was fate, or just bad luck, that had caught them at such a vulnerable time.
“All Gotham based vigilantes are trained for periods of extreme sleep deprivation,” Bruce said quietly, voice unwavering. “We will be functional and assist Zatanna where needed.”
“Robin’s what, eleven?” Hal cut in from the other side of the table, dubious. “No way he’s staying up more than two days. It’s harder on kids.”
“We will not be a liability,” Bruce said, jaw tensing slightly under the cowl. “If you have any further concerns—"
“I think we’re all good,” Clark cut in, giving the table an awkward smile. “We all know the game plan, then. No one sleeps, and we help the others stay awake. Zatanna will figure this out, and we’ll be back to regular business as soon as possible.”
The meeting disbanded a few moments later, uneasy Founders heading for the exits and their respective stations. Bruce had pulled a tablet from thin air, tapping at it with one gauntleted hand as he read over Zatanna’s shoulder.
“B, I think we should distribute--”
“Done,” Bruce said, not looking up at him. “Robin and Red Robin have already passed out age and weight appropriate stimulants via the canteen. We’ll reassess in six hours to see if additional meta dosage increases are needed.”
Zatanna tapped at a line of spellwork on the conference table, swinging it up into the air. “There. Do you see that?”
Bruce peered at the line, shaking his head. “No, the conjugation is all wrong.”
You know magic?
“Fuck, you’re right.”
“Um,” Clark said, suddenly awkward. “B, maybe we should be--”
“I assigned a sleep buddy system twenty minutes ago. Everyone should have one assignment in their League comm,” Bruce said, reaching out into Zatanna’s spellwork and pulling out a squiggle. “I don’t recognize this symbol. Do you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean it’s our culprit.”
“Maybe you should call Constantine.”
“Maybe you should call Constantine,” Zatanna sniped back, nudging Bruce’s hand away from the symbol. “He sure as hell likes you more than me right now.”
“He hates me.”
“That’s what I said.”
Clark put up his hands, backing away from the conference room before he could make more of a nuisance of himself.
03:15:27 UTC
“Hey man,” Tim greeted him when he entered the canteen. “Here for your dose?”
Clark scanned the room, taking in the various containers of coffee, juice, and energy drinks. “Are we giving people Monster energy drinks to stay awake? That’s the plan?”
“Oh no, that was just a distraction so they didn’t taste the Adderall,” Tim said, oddly cheerful. “We crushed up some different pills in all of them. I would avoid the Celsius, that’s for Oliver when he goes down. Maybe try the coffee first.”
“When?” Clark dared to ask.
“All part of B’s notes,” Tim replied, shrugging. “Ollie was notorious for cat-napping back in their boarding school days. B doesn’t trust him to stay awake more than…hm, let’s see…49.5 hours, I think.”
Clark blinked. “Do I want to know my own estimates?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. He thinks you’ll stay up the longest, but you’ll be the most non-functional.” Tim offered him a half-apologetic smile. “Sleep deprivation is a wild thing. You’re gonna hallucinate and try peeing in a potted plant instead of the urinal. Anyway, did you want to try the coffee?”
Well, that’s reassuring.
“Will it help?” Clark asked, staring suspiciously at the coffee pot near Tim’s left hand.
“It can’t hurt,” Tim said, shrugging again. “And you can barely taste the meth in this one.”
Clark cracked a smile, finally feeling a burst of humor after all of the day’s dread. “That’s funny.”
“I wasn’t joking,” Tim said, holding up the pot in question. His expression was utterly Bruce-like, blanker than an erased chalkboard. “Do you have your mug? We’re trying to keep one tied to each person so they don’t get swapped by accident.”
“Nice,” Clark said, clearing his throat. “I think I’m gonna pass for now but…keep up the good work.”
“Will do!” Tim saluted him, no more or less enthusiastically than ever. Clark rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself.
I suppose it’s good we have sleep deprivation experts on the Watchtower today, he thought to himself, heading for the door. This must be like any other week in Gotham for them.
“Hey,” Clark said, pausing at the doorway. “You have your sleep buddy, right? B assigned you one?”
“We don’t have any,” Tim said, still holding the coffee pot in his hand. “B isn’t worried about us. We’ve done this a lot.”
“Right,” Clark said, smiling tightly. “See you later.”
“Don’t fall asleep!”
With that cheery command ringing in his ears, Clark headed toward the common space on the lower levels.
04:02:49 UTC
“You guys doing okay?” Clark asked the loosely-assembled Teen Titans. He had to raise his voice to be heard over what looked like the second John Wick movie, which appeared to be halfway through a large action sequence.
“Fine,” Roy said, nodding at Clark without looking away from the screen. He was shoveling popcorn into his mouth at an alarming rate. “You doing okay, Big Blue?”
“He’s fine, he’s a meta,” Wally said. He was sitting next to Roy and, oddly, eating out of the popcorn at a normal pace. “Or a Kryptonian…whatever you are, sorry. You know what I mean.”
“Yep,” Clark said, “You all have you sleep buddies?”
In reply, all of the gathered Teen Titans linked arms, holding them up for his approval.
“Great,” Clark said, “Have you seen Nightwing?”
He needed Dick’s clarity and insight into Bruce more than ever. If anyone would know how long Bruce could go without sleep, it was him. His first Robin. The one who’d seen it all, from a young age into adulthood.
“Saw him downstairs with Red Hood a few minutes ago,” a Teen Titans member Clark didn’t recognize said, looking away from the movie briefly. “Can you ask him to bring up more popcorn if you run into him?”
Clark was a sucker for big puppy eyes. “Yeah, absolutely.”
“Great! And let him know we’re almost out of soda too.”
That was a clue, at the very least. Dick and Jason were probably on the lower levels coordinating the distribution of food. It was exactly where he would’ve placed them, if he was Bruce.
Food helped keep people awake, he recalled. Lois had always snacked on things when they were up late working on a story together. It made sense -- humans expended more energy staying awake, so they had to replace that somehow.
Clark, in honor of that, declined to super speed to the elevator, saving as much of his own energy as he could -- for now.
04:05:17 UTC
“Hey man,” Victor said in the elevator, nodding at him.
“Hey,” Clark said, offering a small smile. “How you holding up?”
“The cybernetics shock the human parts of me if they think I’m getting tired,” Victor said, shrugging one mechanical shoulder. “10,000 volts right into the brain will definitely keep you awake, I’ll tell you that.”
Clark made an agreeing sound, struggling to keep his expression neutral. “Hey, whatever works, right?”
Victor turned to face him fully in the elevator, evidently narrowing in on the tone of uncertainty in his voice. “You okay, man?”
Despite the cybernetics, Victor was sometimes startlingly human. Clark smiled again, slightly embarrassed by his obvious concern. “I’m great. Just making sure everyone is holding up okay.”
“Don’t be afraid to take a break,” Victor said, lips quirking. “My systems tell me Bruce has something special cooked up for you if you start dropping. When you’re desperate, go ask him.”
Clark would be doing no such thing. “Is it more meth coffee?”
“They’re high quality amphetamines,” Victor defended, squinting in the way that meant he was scanning something far away -- probably the surveillance recordings. “I think Red Robin was just teasing you.”
“Right,” Clark let out a chuckle, glancing anxiously at the elevator panel. “Hey, I think this is my stop. Great catching up with you.”
Victor saluted him with one mechanical hand, letting the doors close between them. “Godspeed.”
04:30:06 UTC
Clark tracked down Dick and Jason in the main storage facility, hurrying up to keep in stride with them. They were in near lockstep, transporting several hover carts behind them.
“Hey guys,” he said, giving a small wave. “How’s it going?”
“Supes,” Jason said, giving him a respectful nod. Under the helmet, Clark could see him grinning. “You look tired. Tim didn’t give you any of his coffee?”
“It’s going to make him twitchy,” Dick said, frowning under Nightwing’s mask. It made the whole mask crinkle up in an oddly cute way. “You don’t want to be twitchy. Twitchy is one step above hallucinating.”
“Tim said I would pee in a potted plant,” Clark said seriously.
“Been there,” Jason said, equally serious. He turned to Dick, still pushing his hover cart. “When was the last time you hallucinated?”
“Well, I got dosed by Ivy last week.”
“That doesn’t count, everyone hallucinates when that happens.”
“I also got caught in that fear toxin cloud with the GCPD a few months back,” Dick mused, “But I guess that doesn’t count either. I was really proud, though. Alfred didn’t have to restrain me at all. I just puked a lot. All over the medbay, actually. I still kinda feel bad about that.”
“Gross,” Jason said, “Piss yourself like a man next time. None of that throwing up shit.”
“How is pissing yourself more manly than throwing up?”
Clark stepped a little closer, worried about the intensity of the sniping. “Hey, we’re all good, right?”
“What?” Dick asked, turning around. “Yeah, we’re fine man. More than fine, since I’m not pissing my pants, apparently.”
“Or throwing up,” Jason offered. He parked the hover cart, locking the wheels with a flick of his boot. “Really, a little sleep deprivation can be fun. It’s kind of like a high.”
“It kind of is,” Dick agreed, turning back to his brother. “I don’t think I’ve hallucinated since that one mission with B. You know, the one with the lizards?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, the lizards,” Jason said. “I remember that one. You and him were up for like, forever.”
Clark didn’t dare ask how long forever was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “Hey, guys?”
The two of them turned to face him at the same time, eerily in sync. “Yeah?”
“I’m just checking in,” Clark said, holding up his hands. “Making sure you’re okay. And also the Teen Titans want more popcorn. And, uh, soda?”
Dick groaned, hands flying up to his face. “They want more? I already gave them three days’ worth!”
“Yeah, they can nibble on each other for all I care,” Jason said, in a tone that said he truly meant that. “You don’t need to worry about us, Supes. This is like child’s play for us.”
“Right,” Clark said, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “I’m not worried about any of you. I’m worried about B, actually.”
There was a split second where Dick and Jason traded a glance, and then broke into loud, raucous laughter.
“Oh my God,” Dick wheezed, halfway bent over his cart. “You’re worried about B? The King of Sleep Deprivation himself?”
“That’s too fucking funny,” Jason said, shaking his head. “He’s the last person you have to worry about. I’m pretty sure he didn’t sleep at all last week. He’s just going to keep going.”
“He’s stubborn like that,” Dick said, nodding with some seriousness. “The normal stuff doesn’t bother him. He just ignores the hallucinations like they’re not there. That’s talent.”
“Every human has to sleep eventually,” Clark said, trying to tread delicately.
“Eventually, being the key word there,” Jason pointed out. “We’re not anywhere near eventually. Not until he cracks this spell. I don’t think he can physically go down if there’s something wrong. He’s like one of those big livestock dogs. You know, the white fluffy ones?”
“Great Pyrenees,” Dick said.
“Yeah, those. You think they’re asleep, but as soon as one of those goats starts squealing -- boom, he’s been awake the whole time, and he’s pissed.”
Clark nodded, unsure of how to respond to that. “Right.”
“You’re gonna be fine,” Dick said, clapping him on the shoulder with a gauntleted hand. “Don’t worry about him or us. Worry about yourself. Who’s your sleep buddy again?”
Clark froze, realizing he hadn’t even checked. “Um.”
“It’s Hal,” Jason said, already clicking through his wrist comm. “I’d go find him if I were you. I know the ring keeps him jacked up all the time, but concentration is one of the first things to go. If he can’t keep that construct up, he’s toast.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s stubborn, too,” Clark said. “Do you guys need any help before I run off?”
“Don’t run, the balance issues start creeping in around 24 hours in,” Dick warned, sage as ever.
“Stay away from the potted plants,” Jason advised, equally sage.
“Good reminder,” Clark said. “Thanks, guys. Comm me if you need anything.”
“Sure thing.”
05:20:46 UTC
“Oh hey, my battle buddy!” Hal greeted, spinning around in the monitor chair. “How goes it? Anyone asleep yet?”
Clark grimaced. “A few of the support staff that had been on shift since yesterday passed out in the bunkrooms. Not ideal, but not as many as we predicted by now.”
“Oof, yeah,” Hal said, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Couldn’t be me. I’m so energized right now, you have no idea. A week of R&R before this really helped, you know?”
Clark agreed, withholding his internal commentary. He distantly remembered Lois’ energized phase during all-nighters. It was usually the prelude to her passing out at her desk for a thirty minute cat nap.
“So, we really can’t sleep at all?” Hal asked casually. “Like, the second we knock out, we’re toast?”
“Until Zatanna can create a counterspell, yeah,” Clark said. “It sounds like it’s peaceful -- you just fall asleep, and you don’t wake back up.”
“Fuck, I could use that,” Hal groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been on monitor duty all day. Staring at this screen is driving me nuts.”
“You get some coffee from the canteen yet?” Clark asked.
“Nah, isn’t exactly my style.” Hal held up a can of Monster energy. “B’s kid was actually super chill about it. He was practically giving them away. I got like six of them.”
Clark deserved an Academy Award for keeping his expression straight. “Nice. Yeah, that was really cool of them.”
“Anyway, did you need something?”
“Just checking in on my sleep buddy,” Clark said, “We’re technically supposed to stay together, just in case one of us--”
“Yeah, fuck that noise,” Hal said, waving at him. “We’re all adults here. I’ve got some Monsters. I was in the Air Force, for Christ’s sake. I know how to stay awake.”
Clark really, really hoped he wasn’t about to eat those words. “Yeah.”
“Go hover somewhere else,” Hal said, making a shooing motion with the can in his hand. “And if you see B, let him know I want out of this fucking room already.”
“Noted.”
10:30:06 UTC
“Any progress?” Clark asked, poking his head back into the conference room.
The look Zatanna and Bruce gave him, in perfect, silent unison, had him crawling back down the hallway without a word.
12:50:36 UTC
“I’m really worried about Wally,” Barry said, leaning over the bathroom sink to make eye contact with Clark in the mirror. “I keep telling him to get up and sprint for a little bit, but he’s just lazing around on the couch watching movies. Like, that’s just asking to fall asleep, you know?”
Clark made an agreeing noise, trying to focus on pissing straight into the urinal. Dick and Jason’s warning was fresh in his mind, and a quick safety pee had never hurt.
Better now, than into a potted plant in front of all of his colleagues later.
“I don’t trust Roy to keep him awake either,” Barry said, shaking his head. “He’s just like Oliver. Who’s almost asleep, by the way. I saw Dinah slap him in the canteen earlier when he almost conked out. That was magical, by the way.”
Clark made another agreeing noise.
“I just don’t see how we continue like this if everyone’s heads aren’t in the game,” Barry said, shaking his head. “Like, I’m fine. You’re fine. Because we’re actually taking this seriously.”
They both looked up as Arthur walked into the bathroom. The Atlantean gave them an odd look, moving slowly toward the stalls.
“Hey Arthur,” Barry said, waving, “How you holding up? I heard you’re paired up with Victor.”
Arthur turned to Clark slowly, the odd look transforming into a full scowl. “Is he talking really fast for you, too?”
Clark finished up, squinting at Barry. “What?”
“I mean, I didn’t make out a single word he just said,” Arthur replied, tilting his head. “He’s talking way too fucking fast. It’s like a one-second blip of noise.”
“Oh,” Barry said, turning back to Clark. “You understood me, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Clark said, trying to figure out why he hadn’t noticed, until now, that Barry had been washing his hands in the sink at three times the normal human speed. “You were just getting…a little fast there, for a second.”
“Maybe you all are just a little slow,” Barry said, trying to smile. It was far from convincing. “Anyway, I gotta go run. Work off some of this steam.”
He disappeared from the bathroom in a blur, faster than even Clark’s eyes could track. After a moment, Arthur cleared his throat pointedly.
“He good?”
“Yeah,” Clark said, watching as Barry sprinted through the lower levels of the Watchtower at full speed. “I think so.”
“You must be out of it if you didn’t even notice,” Arthur commented, raising an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t need that golden parachute? Victor was telling me about B’s setup.”
“I’m fine,” Clark said, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m not pissing in potted plants yet.”
“...What?”
“Never mind.”
2:35:29 UTC
Clark glanced at his comm, scanning the read out of Bruce’s latest stats. Of the 385 souls on the Watchtower, over half had succumbed to sleep. Most of them in the past two hours.
The main League members were largely unaffected, save for Oliver, who was three minutes away from falling asleep at any given moment. Dinah had taken to walking him up and down the main hallways, keeping him moving in a desperate attempt to stave off sleep.
Clark gave them another hour, maybe two, before things devolved. Dinah knew it too, from the looks she gave anyone who lingered near them.
It was hard, he knew. Humans weren’t the same as metas. Their bodies needed rest, in a way theirs didn’t. Sleep was nice -- a truly added benefit, if you asked him -- but it wasn’t essential. It didn’t sap the life out of them, the longer this went on.
Hal was three Monsters into his stash and loudly telling everyone who stopped by the Monitor room so. Clark estimated the Lantern had another ten hours, maybe twelve, before he really started losing focus.
Clark had a distant hope that the ring would protect him, even in sleep, but he wasn’t holding his breath. Whatever spell this was, it was strong. The people who had fallen asleep this far were impossible to wake up, so far asleep, their brain waves registered as a coma on all of the medbay scans.
His original goal -- stay awake and provide morale via check-ins -- was becoming foggier the longer things went on. One by one, they were growing more irritable or confused, far less happy to see him than before. His arrival meant they hadn’t fixed things yet, and his proffered reassurance was quickly being taken as pity or concern.
Still, there were small mercies. Other than Barry’s strange speed conversation in the bathroom, all he felt was a distant sense of exhaustion. HIs body wasn’t tired, but his mind was -- he needed a moment to not think, to not take in the world around him. To ignore his senses and succumb to nothingness, like he did every night.
A space station full of anxious, twitchy metas was the last place he needed to be. He longed for the center of a cornfield somewhere, resting in the swaying stalks, beholden to only the breeze and the sky far above him.
God, this needed to end soon. They were all going to go insane.
49 hours, 35 minutes, 10 seconds
“Ollie fell asleep,” Dinah informed him, defeated. “I left him in our quarters. I hope that’s okay -- I didn’t know if I needed to notify someone, or get a new sleep buddy, or…”
Clark reached out, bringing the trembling Dinah into a gentle hug. She collapsed against him, squeezing back in a way he knew meant she was trying not to cry.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he said, mostly into her hair. “He’s going to be okay.”
“He’s not usually like this,” Dinah sniffed, “It’s just, he’d already been up for a few days, and this was a lot all of a sudden. And he still had that injury from last week so he was taking pain pills too--”
“Shhh,” Clark said, rubbing a hand down her back. Or he thought about doing it. It was hard to tell. “It’s okay. No one’s upset with him. Or you.”
“I’m so fucking tired, Clark,” Dinah said, into the privacy of his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m going to last much longer than him.”
Clark gently disengaged, holding onto her shoulders until she looked up at him. Her eyes were red and wet, shining with tears.
“I’m not mad. And I’m not disappointed. If you need to sleep, you need to sleep.”
“Okay,” Dinah said, nodding. “Okay. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Clark said, releasing her. “Go get some fresh coffee. Red Robin just made a new batch, he said it’s even better for metas.”
“Awesome,” Dinah said, brightening visibly. “I’ll go do that.”
Clark waited until she’d left to wipe a hand across his face. The shame and disappointment welled up inside of his chest, sending his heart skittering in an odd beat.
They were dropping slowly but surely. And the toll that would take on Zatanna and Bruce was obvious. They had one job, and they were failing at it. The only people holding up their share were…
Clark turned on his heel, heading for the elevators. It was time to rally the forces.
50 hours, 2 minutes, 12 seconds
“How do you do it?”
The assembled canteen of unmasked and half-undressed Bats looked up at his abrupt entrance, blinking at him in unison. Dick, kicked up on a table next to Jason, gave a small wave.
“Hey, Big Blue.”
That got a ripple effect going, each Bat giving him a small wave or greeting. Clark counted off Steph, Cass, Tim, Jason, Dick and -- under Dick’s arm -- a surprisingly alert-looking Damian.
Clark waved back, feeling dazed. “Hey guys. Sorry, I’m a little out of it. I was just asking for some advice, if y’all have a second.”
“Y’all?” Damian repeated, making a face.
“Shh, he’s tired,” Steph said, elbowing him. “He’s allowed to say y’all.”
“Superman doesn’t say y’all,” Damian replied with a scoff. “It’s a geographical indicator of his origin. It’s highly sensitive information, in the wrong hands.”
Clark stared at him, seeing a blurry version of Bruce superimposed over Damian’s face for a moment. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the double vision.
“You said the same thing about using contractions,” Steph said, smirking at Damian, “and yet, I just counted three.”
“You did not,” Damian growled, “I’m--”
“There it is again!” Steph crowed.
“Guys,” Dick said, the voice of reason. “I think Clark had a question.”
Clark blinked as their full attention was bestowed upon him again, all at once. “I…yeah. I wanted to know if you had any tips on staying awake. Since you all…seem really good at it?”
Jason snorted, leaning back against Dick’s side. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“We’re not experts,” Tim interjected, “But we’re experienced. Have you tried the coffee yet? It’s been super popular.”
“I think what I’m looking for is more, mental tips,” Clark said, shifting on his feet. “You know, keeping mentally with it. If the coffee isn’t helping anymore, for example.”
“Easy,” Dick said, “You just have to remind yourself that everyone is counting on you and you can’t let them down. That pressure works every time.”
The Bats all nodded along with this. Jason flicked up a few gloved fingers. “And remember your mantra.”
“Your mantra?” Clark asked. That sounded promising -- maybe it was something Bruce had taught them.
“Yeah. Mine is fuck bitches, get money.”
“...and that keeps you focused?” Clark asked.
“Hell yeah,” Jason said, like it was obvious. “Dick, what’s yours again?”
“Stick the landing, smile,” Dick repeated, smiling at Clark for emphasis. “Back from my performing days. Bruce doesn’t like when I smile during landings.”
“It freaks him out,” Steph muttered. “Mine is don’t stop moving. Pretty simple.”
Cass signed something for Clark, then repeated in a soft voice: “Watch all angles.”
“Smart,” Clark said. “Tim?”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Oh wow. Really?”
“That’s really it,” Tim said. “Bruce said it to me once and it just clicked in my head, you know?”
“Mine is never give up,” Damian added with a fierce scowl. Dick patted him on the head, looking amused.
“Sure thing, little wing.”
“It’s a powerful statement.”
“It’s kinda vague,” Steph said, dodging Damian’s hand as it whipped out toward her bicep. “What? It is! Never give up what? Sleep? Ground? Secrets? I need some specificity here.”
“So you need a mantra,” Dick said, drawing Clark’s attention away from the squabble. “I’d ask Bruce. He’s always good at giving them out. Sometimes he only speaks in mantras. It kinda works for him, though.”
“I should go check on him,” Clark agreed, glancing at the clock up on the wall. “How long has it been? Are we near the danger zone for him yet?”
“Nah,” Jason said, “Not even close. I bet he took a stim, though.”
“A stim?” Clark asked.
“Something special he had Alfred cook up,” Dick clarified. “He only gets one at a time, or he goes insane and tries to reorganize the entire Manor by furniture type and origin.”
“We ended up with a whole room of rattan settees that one time, remember?” Tim said, looking off into the distance. “Alfred was so pissed.”
“That was hilarious. I really liked the bear rug room, to be honest,” Dick said, joining in on the reminiscence. “You could lay down anywhere.”
That was Clark’s cue to leave. He waved at them in thanks, heading for the door.
Find Bruce. Find a mantra. That can be your mantra until you have one.
Clark reached the elevator, jabbing at the up button.
Save the cheerleader, save the world.
Wait. That wasn’t it.
51 hours, 45 minutes, 59 seconds
After talking three sleep-deprived junior JL members off the sleep ledge, Clark finally made his way back up to the conference room. The security system was engaged on the door, blocking out all non-essential personnel.
It took an embarrassing three tries to override the lock with his Founder code. Clark stumbled in with his remaining dignity in shreds, expecting immediate condemnation.
Zatanna and Bruce were both perched on the table, staring wordlessly at the stream of symbols between them. Their eyes flicked back and forth, clearly reading and taking in what was virtually gibberish to Clark.
“Hey,” Clark croaked, waving at them. “How’s it -- how’s it going in here?”
He realized, belatedly, that Bruce had lost his cowl and half of his upper armor at some point. His suit was rolled down to his waist, revealing his undershirt and bare arms. His hair was tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it.
Clark drifted toward him, drawn to him as if by gravity. Bruce radiated confidence and surety. He looked no more likely to fall asleep than he had, two days ago.
Upon closer examination, he noticed that Bruce’s pupils were dilated, so wide and dark, they covered up all of the blue in his eyes. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his face, his respiration and heart rate slightly elevated from their baseline.
“You took the stim,” Clark said, before he could remember to shut his mouth. Bruce’s eyes flicked away from the table, narrowing in on his face.
“And?”
Clark wavered, absolutely uncertain of the correct path forward. Under Bruce’s scrutiny, he was even more wordless than he had been before. “I--um.”
“Did you need something?” Bruce asked, in a way that meant he was only being polite out of habit. His words were sharp, digging into Clark’s brain like a flurry of tiny daggers.
“I need a, uh, mantra.”
“A mantra?” Bruce asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. A mantra.”
“Don’t go to sleep,” Bruce said, turning back to the table. “Z, what if we --”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Zatanna said, slapping Bruce’s hand away from the table. “I just made that change.”
“You made it in the wrong tense."
“Oh, and you suddenly speak ancient Zyrellian?”
“Clearly better than you, if you’re mixing up tenses.”
Clark backed away as the room started to smell like burning metal, retreating before Zatanna blasted Bruce into tiny little pieces.
71 hours, 39 minutes, 17 seconds
Clark stepped into the Monitor room, clutching a fresh can of Monster to his chest. “Hey, Hal, I was just stopping by with a new -- oh, shit.”
Hal snored softly on the desk, facedown on folded arms. He was wearing civilian clothing, his ring glinting dully on his left hand.
“Traitor,” Clark told it, dropping the can off on the desk anyway. “You couldn’t have zapped him like Victor’s suit?”
The ring flickered once, a silent apology. Clark let out a sigh, trying to force his brain toward a next step.
Victor. He’d said something about a contingency plan.
72 hours, 10 minutes, 2 seconds
“Hey man, glad you’re here,” Victor said when he entered. “We lost like, 70% of our hold outs. Only the Bats, you, me, Bruce, Z and Arthur are still up. And between you and me, Arthur’s not looking too good.”
“Hey,” Arthur protested. The Atlantean was crumpled in a beanbag across the room, looking two seconds away from sleep. “I’m…still awake. Fucker.”
“For another few minutes, sure,” Victor said, turning back to Clark. “What can I help you with? You need another headcount?”
Clark watched him twitch once, twice, three times in the span of a single second, and realized, distantly, that the cybernetics had to be shocking him near-constantly now. He wondered if it was painful.
We can’t go on like this.
“You said Bruce had something for me in case I started losing it,” Clark said. “I’m losing it. I keep trying to remember his mantra, but all I remember is that line from Heroes.”
“Save the cheerleader, save the world,” Arthur mumbled across the room.
“Yeah, that,” Clark said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to ask Bruce about whatever he planned. He’s really in the zone.”
“He and Z are doing some impressive work,” Victor said, nodding enthusiastically. “I think they’re almost close to cracking it. And he’s still functioning just at or below optimal, somehow.”
“Cool,” Clark said. “Can you point me in the right direction, then? Please?”
“Oh, yeah,” Victor twitched again, then turned back to his monitor. “You’ll want to head to the rec room near your quarters. Enjoy, man.”
Clark gave Arthur a respectful, encouraging nod. The other man jerked his chin up, trying to reciprocate. It was barely more of a twitch.
“Don’t worry about him,” Victor said, “There’s nothing we can do for him now. Someone ignored my advice about swimming in their natural element to stay awake.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to stay in the pool for three fucking days?”
72 hours, 3 minutes, 57 seconds
Clark opened the door to the rec room and nearly keeled over. He clenched the doorknob between his fingers, trying to stay in the present as pure pleasure surged through him.
He came back to himself on his knees, heated and clear-minded for the first time in days. It took barely a second for him to enter the room fully, positioning himself under the industrial sun lamps Bruce had arranged around the center of the room.
His exhaustion slipped away like water sloughing off his skin, burned away by the power of several small, weak suns. Every cell in his body rose to attention, energized and revitalized in seconds. The haze of exhaustion lifted from his mind, allowing him to drift without skimming too closely to sleep.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he opened his eyes. His new mantra repeated in the back of his mind, overlaid on itself a thousand times.
Bruce.
Of course the sun helped. He was an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. A quick occasional detour to the sun would’ve probably kept him awake for months, if not years. That was how good it felt.
He checked the clock on the wall, wincing at the time. They didn’t have long now, but if Bruce and Zatanna were close like Victor said…
He had to keep the hope alive.
72 hours, 25 minutes, 3 seconds
Arthur was asleep by the time Clark made it to the elevator. Victor’s comm was oddly cheerful, which Clark could only ascribe to the constant shocks.
He found the Bats still in the canteen, playing a dangerous-looking game with a knife that vaguely resembled bloody knuckles. Just as he walked in, Tim fumbled the knife, slicing into Jason’s left knuckle.
“Fuck,” Jason said, raising his hand to his mouth. He licked the bleeding cut, making a face. “You really suck at this game.”
“You moved,” Tim complained, still holding the knife. “Put it back down. I wanna try again.”
“In what world am I gonna let you try again?”
Clark wandered over to where Dick was refereeing. The younger vigilante greeted him with a smile, briefly looking away from the game.
“Hey. You’re glowing! I’m guessing you found Bruce’s present?”
“Sure did,” Clark said, giving a little spin for show. “I feel so much better. So much better.”
“I bet,” Dick said, looking a little wistful. “We’re still doing fine here, but it’s definitely getting a little loopy. B said he was almost done, though.”
“Yeah?” Clark asked. If Victor and Dick were saying the same thing, that was a good sign.
“If I were you,” Dick said, giving him a furtive glance, “I’d go up there and catch him when he’s done. He’s been up longer than any of us. He’s going to crash pretty hard.”
“How long has he been up?” Clark asked, growing concerned. “No one will tell me an exact number.”
“Oh, well that’s hard to say for sure.” Dick frowned. “Maybe six days? He was already working a case before this happened. You’d have to ask Alfred for sure. But definitely a while.”
“And how long can humans stay awake, on average?” Clark asked.
“I mean, it varies,” Dick said, wobbling a hand for emphasis. “Most people can’t stay awake on their own past three days, which is why you saw most of the humans conk out around 36 hours. The metas were dropping around 50 to 72 hours, which makes sense. They’re not used to it either, and whatever extra energy they have can only last so long if it’s not self-replenishing like yours. But the record is…I think eleven days? Jay, is it eleven days?”
Jason didn’t look up from the game. He had the knife now, making slow stabs around Tim’s hand. “Eleven, yeah.”
“But you really start to lose it around 72 hours if you’re a normal human,” Dick said cheerfully, turning back to Clark. “Hallucinations, psychosis, paranoia -- you get the whole kit and caboodle if you’re not prepared for it.”
“But Bruce doesn’t,” Clark said hesitantly.
“If he does, he hasn’t said anything about it,” Dick shrugged. “Usually he meditates. I’m not sure if he’s had time to do that up there with Z. That’s why I think he’s gonna crash hard.”
“Isn’t meditating just sleeping?”
“Oh, young grasshopper,” Dick quipped, giving him a look. “It really isn’t.”
Clark shook his head, smiling despite his concern. “You guys just get funnier the longer you’re awake.”
“Thank you, it’s all part of our charm,” Dick said, giving a mock-bow. “Though, I’ll be honest, we’re all kind of itching to get out of here. Space really fucks up your sense of time, you know?”
“Yeah,” Clark said. At the sudden, sharp smell of blood, he decided not to look back down at the board. “I’m gonna go check on him now. We’ll give you the go-ahead as soon as it’s all clear.”
“Comm Diana,” Tim called out, looking up from the game. “She’s been coordinating all the relief staff and supplies with B. You’re gonna have to take over once he crashes.”
“Gotcha,” Clark said, heading for the door.
“And Clark?”
Clark looked back. Dick was actually standing up, looking -- for the first time -- like he might be a little tired.
“Bring him back to the Manor, yeah? Let him sleep in his own bed.”
For some reason, that sent a pang through his chest. Clark nodded, exiting the canteen in search of the elevator.
72 hours, 29 minutes, 38 seconds
“Oh good, you’re here,” Zatanna said when he entered the conference room. “We’re about to do the spell. Here, stand in the corner so you don’t get in the way.”
Clark let himself be repositioned. Bruce stood a few feet away, arms crossed as he peered down at the conference table full of spell work. There was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He looked, for all purposes, like a weary general staring down an impossible battle plan.
Zatanna cracked her knuckles at the head of the table. “You sure you don’t want to say it? It’s basically your counterspell, at this point.”
Bruce growled, a low noise in the back of his throat. Zatanna shrugged, as if to say fair enough.
“Well, with no further preamble,” Zatanna said, stretching from side to side. She made a come hither motion with her fingers, pulling the spellwork from the table and into the air. “Let’s do this.”
Clark stood silently in the corner as she began to incant, sharp foreign words slipping from her tongue. It was nothing like her normal spells. It was a strange, lyrical way of speaking -- ritualistic and strange enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, sensing the changing energies in the air.
After a solid three minutes of speaking, Zatanna slumped backwards into her chair with a soft gasp. Her eyes were wide, chest heaving with sudden, rapid breaths.
Bruce stepped over toward her, pushing a hand through the lingering spellwork still hanging in the air. The symbols fell apart, dissipating into thin wisps of smoke.
“We good?”
“We’re good,” Zatanna said, smiling up at Bruce. “We did it. You did it. Holy fuck.”
Bruce knelt next to her, setting a hand on her arm with a surprising amount of affection. “Are you able to manage the spell home, or do you want to use one of the zetas?”
“I can do it,” Zatanna said, eyes still wide. “Just -- remind me of the words. I’m so tired, B.”
“Emoh Og,” Bruce said quietly. Zatanna gave a weak salute.
“Don’t need to tell me twice. Emoh Og.”
Zatanna disappeared from the chair. After a long pause, Bruce pushed to his feet, turning around to face Clark.
“I see you found my lamps.”
Clark stared at him for a long moment, mystified by all that he was. He was still upright where so many others had failed. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his pupils were still dilated, but he was with it in a way their colleagues could only dream of.
Even Clark had failed, near the end of it all.
“You ready to go home?” Clark asked softly.
“Can’t,” Bruce shook his head, defeated. “I need to coordinate the next day-cycle and the re-supply.”
“I took care of that on the way up here,” Clark said. “Spoke to Diana and everything. She and a few League members who were off-shift are on their way up here as soon as we give the all-clear.”
Bruce said something, a protest of some sort. Clark didn’t hear the words, staring at the man’s chapped lips. The flush of exertion high on his cheeks, from the stim. The way his hair was loose and wavy across his forehead, rumpled in a way he never let himself be, normally.
The way he seemed to lean toward Clark, ever so slightly. Searching out his support, even if it was only by millimeters.
“I promised Dick I would take you home,” Clark said, drawn back to the present. Across from him, Bruce’s lips twitched. “Let me?”
“Clark.”
It was so hard to stay away, after so long apart. Clark surged forward impulsively, pressing their lips together. When Bruce sighed into the kiss, he added a hand under the other man’s jaw, tipping him further into the kiss.
Bruce came apart by him, inch by inch. He sagged into Clark’s weight after a long moment, kissing so slowly, so tenderly, it was like he was already half-asleep. Clark wound his hands around Bruce’s waist, keeping him upright as his strength finally began to flag.
“You taste like sun,” Bruce murmured into his chin, eyes closed as they rested against each other.
“What does the sun taste like?” Clark asked, surprised.
“Hydrogen.”
That was…charming. Clark tightened his arms, holding Bruce against him to quell the desperate feeling in his chest.
“Let’s go home.”
Bruce made an agreeing noise, curled up under Clark’s chin. Clark could feel his body start to shut down, his heart rate and blood pressure dropping, now that the threat was eliminated.
“That’s my mantra.”
“What?” Clark asked, halfway through trying to look up the closest zeta on his wrist comm without dislodging Bruce.
“My mantra. Make it home.”
A fierce wave of emotion ripped through Clark, nearly dislodging his newfound clarity. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the comm in front of him.
“That’s a -- yeah. That’s a good one.”
72 hours, 37 minutes, 1 second
Clark set Bruce on the mattress, reaching out to undo his armor. Bruce’s hands batted him away, clumsy from exhaustion.
“Don’t.”
“Okay,” Clark said. It didn’t need to come off if Bruce didn’t want it. He would make his apologies to Alfred tomorrow, if needed. It probably wasn’t the first time he’d had to clean boot prints and oil out of his sheets.
Bruce rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow. He let out a soft, exhausted breath, and then a single word:
“Stay?”
Clark climbed into the bed behind him, settling into the empty space along Bruce’s back. He breathed in the smell of Bruce’s hair, his sweat, and the bitter tang of magic, closing his eyes.
Bruce.