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Bruce grunts, bracing himself as the creature rears back for another heavy swing. The fist collides, and blood- his blood- sluggishly trickles down his face, over the cut of his brow and over his lips. He reflexively yanks against the restraints around his wrists on impact, legs spreading outwards from the chair to keep his body upright.
Another swing and Bruce braces himself again- body tensing up as the fist smashes against the other side of his temple. He sways with the motion, minimizing the strength of the blow. Heels dig in, stabilizing his center of gravity, nullifying the force of impact. Blood manages to seep into his mouth when he ducks his head again.
The motions are familiar. The blood. The violence. For a split second, he's transported back to Gotham- out on patrol and getting a little in over his head. When he screws his eyes shut, he can see the dark, murky Gotham clouds between the towering skyscrapers.
For a brief moment, he's not here- trapped on a planet he doesn't recognize.
From his ducked position, he can see the smuggler rear back for another punch. Bruce tenses. ‘Left handed swing, pull left with them. Don't clench the jaw. Spread out the stance- redistribute the force.’
A smack echoes in his ears, momentarily throwing Bruce completely off. He watches from under his lashes- a second pair of legs approach the smuggler.
“I told you- hands OFF the earthling.” The second smuggler spits out, another smack echoing off the walls. The small communicator aid warbles in Bruce's ear, translating for him, albeit slightly delayed. “Made me waste my [expletive] time wondering where you were, and you're pummeling the alien like he don’t cost a [expletive] thing.”
Smuggler One grunts, but doesn't say a word. There's a harsh, annoyed growl, followed by a frighteningly loud slam against the door.
“Get the [expletive] back upstairs, idiot. And send someone down with a kit.” When the first smuggler refuses to budge, the second one snarls something fierce, emitting an odd bellowing vocalization of some sort, and the first one stomps off, muttering too low for the communicator to pick up.
Bruce remains on guard when the smuggler leaves. They may not want damaged goods, but that doesn't mean they wont find other ways to harm him.
The second smuggler- the Boss, Bruce assumes- walks up to him. “Idiot. [expletive] idiot. [expletive] blood everywhere. [untranslatable] what a [expletive] mess. Will have to put him on cleanup duty or something for the next quarter.”
A frankly massive hand cups Bruce's jaw and forcibly brings his head up. The suddenness makes his head swim a little.
“Nothing is broken. That helmet you have can take a real beating.” Bossman turns his head this way and that. “Your helmet is cracked. Cut [splintered] into your head. Superficial injury.”
The door creaks open and a different alien than last time walks in, holding a large, red case. They approach the two of them with hesitation.
The Boss alien regards the box and crewmate with apprehension.“That is not from [our vessel].” The boss replies. The crewmate nods. “Correct. I stepped foot outside and [procured] this from a neighboring [vessel]. We need to restock soon, [preferably] while we are still docked here.”
The crewmate looks Bruce in the eyes, then back at the boss. “There are some [sanitary cloths] inside of this, Captain. Wipe him down. It has been roughly [thirty hours]. Consider rations and water before showing him to the client.”
“Understood.”
The crewmate places the kit down on the floor, and walks off, quietly closing the door behind them.
The captain steps away to open the box. From here, Bruce can see some sanitary wipes, syringes, gauze, suture kits, and various equipment he can't quite label. They grab a pair of gloves, gauze, a bottle of clear liquid, and walk back to Bruce.
The captain is delicate with his touch, tilting Bruce's head up to get a better look at his face.
“Will not be removing your helmet. Unsure if you have [failsafes] built inside. Problem for the client, not for my crew.”
He doesn't have failsafes built in. At least, not any that would harm him or others. But the threat of a backfire is welcomed regardless. The alien uncaps the bottle and pours a small amount of liquid onto the gauze. Its incredibly sharp and strong, and Bruce's nose twitches a little. The captain notices.
“I know you can understand me. Communicator. Translator. Clearness in your eyes that [convey] understanding.” They tap at the bottle. “Disinfectant. Just [in case][emergency].”
Bruce doesn't respond, opting to stare past them- at the barren wall adjacent to the door. The captain continues where they left off.
“Will need [peroxide] for blood stains on cloth part of suit. [expletive] idiot. Stupid man behaving like a [child].” They grumble as they tend to Bruce, aggravated. The slowly drying blood is dabbed off his face.
Something tickles at the base of Bruce's neck. Something in the air shifts in a way he can't explain.
The captain snatches his attention.
“Water.” The bottle is propped up to Bruce's mouth. “Blood on teeth. Rinse.”
When he refuses, the alien growls slightly. A very clear threat.
“Stubborn. The silence [treatment] [upsets] me greatly.” They tighten the grip on Bruce's face and bare their teeth. “Behave. Do not force me to open your mouth and make you drink.”
Bruce, ever the agitator, scowls in response. The captain snarls, hissing, before hurling the bottle across the room. It quite literally explodes, splitting apart against the wall and splashing water everywhere. They open their mouth, ready to berate Bruce. And they freeze.
There's a sharp, loud sound, like a tire popping in the distance. Then another. And another. The hackles on Bruce's neck raise.
Explosions.
The captain bolts out of the room, yelling loud enough to peak the translator built in Bruce's cowl, and slams the door shut. The explosions get louder, closer and more frequent. There's a moment where Bruce genuinely considers attempting to break himself out, pop out the lockpick in the inside of his wrist and unshackle himself before anyone runs back in- run away with the curtain of chaos onboard to cover him. But he- and he will lament about this always- never has that kind of luck.
The captain swings the bolt door wide open and barges back into the room looking frantic and wild eyed.
“YOU.” They shout, charging towards Bruce with a rage not present before. He's yanked out of the chair by his neck- up to eye level- and Bruce gasps, choking.
“Jammed communications. Soundproof room. You [expletive]. I KNOW you understand me you [expletive].” They tighten their grip and Bruce wheezes, face getting redder by the second. “Monster. A MONSTER is here. Attacking the dock. Attacking my CREW. You tricked us. TRAPPED US.”
The captain howls as they throw Bruce down to the ground with a sickening crack, screaming as they smash whatever they can get their hands on.
“Theres a [DOG][BEAST] LOOSE on us. Treated like [CATTLE][SHEEP] HERDED and contained.” The chair is slammed against the wall, splintering into pieces. “You [EXPLETIVE]. My CREW.” Bruce curls up as a kick lands against his legs. “MY [VESSEL].”
Another massive explosion rings out, rattling the door of the cell off its hinges. The blind rage is instead replaced with dawning fear. From down on the ground, Bruce can hear the outside world with a clarity he wasn't granted since being thrown in here.
Deafening explosions, people screaming and alarms blaring as the ship gets thrown into chaos. The communicator attempts to translate it all, stuttering over itself, overlapping, as it pulls from crewmate commands to the ships built-in security protocols. “[Vessel] Integrity Compromised. Fuselage Sustaining Heavy Damage.” “GET OFF THE [EXPLETIVE][VESSEL]. WHERES THE [EXPLETIVE] CAPTAIN?” The flashing red alarms reach all the way down to the cell Bruce has been held in, sirens blaring in his ears.
“SOMETHING IS ON THE [VESSEL].” “[EXPLETIVE] HELP- PARTS OF THE [HULL] IS MELTING.”
Another explosion rattles throughout the ship, and with it goes the interior lighting system, knocked loose or burned from the fires. There's a loud, grinding metal screech that pierces through Bruce’s protective ear coverings, and emergency lighting flickers on in its place, the eerie dim glow refracting off of the smoke billowing through the corridors.
And despite the noise, the chaos, the rampant fear across the ship- the aches in his bones and the blood in his mouth- Bruce huffs out a wet, choked off laugh. It comes out sounding delirious, and the captain whips their head to the sound, absolutely livid.
“This is FUNNY? My CREW. MY [VESSEL]. [EXPLETIVE]. I should [crush] your [expletive] SKULL.” They snatch Bruce by the throat and yank, hauling him up and over their head. Their grip on Bruce's neck tightens, and his face gets red all over again. Pained wheezes push through his gritted teeth. “A monster- a MONSTER. ON MY [VESSEL]. Brought a MONSTER to my [vessel] like a [BEACON]. HOW-“
Bruce coughs, spittle landing on the hand throttling him. He gasps, exhales sharply- and smiles. “Dog…?”
The captain furrows his brow in confusion. They lessen the grip on Bruce's neck, and he coughs again, body desperate for air.
“Dog. Called him…a dog…” Bruce spits out. “That's- that's so...- that kid. Newbie. Beat the shit outta me…made me bleed.” The alien snarls, confused, suffusing the air with fear even Bruce can detect. “Cant…cant see in here, …cant hear…-but“
The captain's eyes widen. Their head tilts down- to the blood soaked gauze, the blood caked into Bruce's boots and suit, the metallic scent that's been permeating the air this whole time.
A shot of red hot light flies like a bullet between the both of them, spooking the captain into gripping Bruce's neck tighter, who in turn grunts out in pain.
“Drop him.” A voice commands from the doorway smothered in smoke. Red eyes cut through the darkness.
The captain snarls, bellowing deep in their throat at the perceived threat. “[EXPLETIVE]." They turn to glare at Bruce. "You LET yourself get beat down-“ they're cut off by their own strangled shout, their grip on Bruce waning slightly. When Bruce strains his neck, he can see smoke, a hole in the captain's pants, and he can pick up the nauseating smell of charred skin wafting up towards him.
“Drop him.” The figure booms in the doorway, “Do not make me repeat myself.”
The ship is eerily quiet now that Clark is here with them- no longer wreaking havoc on the crew. The bass of his voice reverberates at Bruce's core.
The captain bellows again, and to Bruce's utter delight, stutters when Clark bellows loudly in return, easily overshadowing the captain’s own threat display. He floats through the smoke, only the barest hint of the dim emergency lights bouncing off of his form. His last threat echoes in Bruce's head- he braces himself.
The captain snarls and Clark, for lack of a better word, pounces, tackling the captain down to the ground and forcing them to let go of Bruce. He stumbles on impact, legs wobbly and weak from disuse, but he, ultimately, lands upright and unharmed.
The captain howls from his pinned position, grunting and flailing as Clark bullies them into submission. There's an awful crunch, a gut-wrenching scream, and Clark stands up, grunting as he hurls the captain against the wall. They let out a pained, shaky groan, but otherwise, smartly, decide to stay firmly put on the ground.
Bruce can't help but smile as Clark floats back to him. “Think you made your point, tough guy?”
Clark doesn't respond, twirling Bruce around to burn down his restraints. The relief is immediate, and Bruce quickly shakes out his hands, flexing his fingers to get some blood back to his extremities. Clark simply stares at him.
“Came in with the calvary?”
Clark shakes his head. “Hal- he can't pilot as fast as I can fly. They'll be here soon.”
“How soon?”
“Hour or two. Maybe more.” Clark looks a little bashful. “He gave me an approximate coordinate and I took off. He's probably going to be upset.”
Bruce snorts. They're standing in a broken down cell of a rogue mercenary spaceship that's been torn apart and melted into something he's sure is unrecognizable, with the crew either maimed or running for their lives.
He claps his hand on Clark's shoulder. “He’ll get over it.” Clark smiles at him. He reaches for Bruce's cowl, thumbs pressing into the security locks by his temple, and lifts.
Bruce knows he looks a bit worse for wear- sweat and blood caked into his hairline, bags under his eyes from exhaustion- but Clark seems to ignore it, pressing his lips to Bruce's forehead. Clark pecks at his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, before scooping Bruce up into a tight, warm hug. Bruce lets his head rest against the crook of Clark's neck.
“You're insane.” Clark mumbles against Bruce's shoulder.
Bruce laughs, honest to god laughs at that. The adrenaline keeping him wired for all this time is quickly leaving his system like a faulty gas leak, and he lets himself sag against Clark. “Did it work?”
“The blood? Of course it did.” Clark leans back, planting a kiss on Bruce's nose. He loops Bruce's arm across his shoulder and walks him outside. “This planet is huge- couldn't focus on your heartbeat somewhere this unfamiliar. Pretty sure they opened the door long enough for the smell to escape and linger. Saw red as soon as I picked up on it- I thought…well…” Clark tightens his grip. “Its not important- it didn't happen. I made sure of it. It's just…it was pure luck I was flying overhead the correct port- no shot that stunt of yours would've worked if I was on the other side of the planet.”
Bruce smiles. “But it worked.”
Clark sighs with his whole body, exasperated. But he smiles back. “Yes. It worked. Your 'Red eyed Dog Monster Thing' got you back in one piece.”
Bruce snorts. “Oh you heard that?” Clark nods. “Well was he accurate? Was that an apt description?”
Clark doesn’t immediately respond, but his smile breaks out into a sharp toothed grin. He hums.
“Maybe.”