Snippet for Sasha_anu

[icarus_chained]

2nd result of the meme.

Title:  Idiot
Fandom:  DBZ/DC crossover/melding/thing
Rating:  PG
Characters/Pairings:  Bruce as Vegeta. Clark as Goku. 
Summary:  Uh, mostly just that. If the DC boys had lived the DBZ boys' lives. And actually, they are ... creepily similar, in a lot of ways. Maybe that's just me projecting, though.
Wordcount:  392 (*very* short, for me)

Idiot

Bruce leaned against the wall, glaring at anyone who approached him, his back as stiff as his hair, and watched the other man. Clark. Moving easily among his friends, wearing those ridiculously bright clothes and that perpetual smile of his, his hair casually messed as if he had no time for it, no time to look respectable as a warrior should. The man caught his eyes in passing, and smiled brightly, sincerely.

What manner of idiot would smile at him?

But then, Clark was a fool. Clark trusted as easily as breathing, forgave as easily as smiling, and fought ... fought like nothing Bruce had ever seen. The sheer power of the man, the strength ... Ah yes. The strength. Wasn't that what he resented most, distrusted most? That Clark had beaten him, taken everything he could throw, every ounce of Bruce's strength and skill and genius, and still been standing at the end?

Or was it that he had not killed Bruce in return?

Bruce had learned long ago that there was no such thing as mercy. That those who were weak were dead or dependant on another to live. He had learned that if you could not fight, anyone could take what they wanted from you. And that if you were beaten, you were dead. As dead as his family, his people. His world had revolved for so long on those realities, on the quest for greater strength, for more skill, for every advantage a lifetime of training and fighting could give him. He had fought so long to be free, to be strong enough to take on anyone, to stand alone against the world.

And this man, in one battle, one hour, had shattered everything he had ever understood.

Clark had beaten him. But worse than that, deeper than that, Clark had spared him. Shown him mercy. Made him dependant, weak. Clark forgave him for everything he had ever done, every moment of distrust and outright hate between them, every weapon or edge Bruce had ever temporarily been able to hold over him. Clark, here and now, smiled at him, and meant it. The man wanted to help him, to heal him, to see him happy.

The man was a fool. And if push came to shove, Bruce would die to protect him.

If only because Clark was his, and only his, to beat.