Chapter Text
In hindsight, Clark should have known this kind of thing would happen. He should have kept a closer eye on Ultraman, or maybe he shouldn't even have left him on his own.
However, how could he not go out and be Superman? Ever since the inter-universe rift had closed two days ago, the human and metahuman upstarts who had felt left out of the big action were making their presence known throughout the fractured Metropolis. If he hadn't continued his work, people would have gotten hurt.
But then someone did get hurt, right under his nose. And Clark hadn't even noticed.
* * *
"Hey, I'm—" Something crunched under Clark's shoe. He lifted his foot. Was that... glass? He set his briefcase down and x-ray scanned the apartment. No intruders. Only Ultraman... sitting on the floor in the corner of Clark's room, knees pulled to his chest.
Oh, no.
He rushed inside.
Ultraman jumped to his feet, fists at the ready.
"Woah, just me!" Clark held up his hands. Then his eyes narrowed. "Is that blood?"
His gaze shuttered and he hid his hands behind his back, standing at attention.
"I'm not angry," he insisted. Then he realized what kind of tone he was using and tried to adjust. "I just want to know. Are you okay?"
His eyes were firmly fixed on the floor, breathing erratic.
Clark took a step back to give him space and focused on his own breathing. In... out. In... out. In... out.
Ultraman's heartrate eventually slowed to something more like normal.
After some extra time for good measure, Clark said softly, "I know you might not believe me, but I never lie." He bent his head to try to catch his gaze. "I'm not angry at you. I want you to be okay. Can you tell—or, show me what's going on so I can help?"
A beat.
Finally, the wary blue eyes looked up at him. Ultraman took a breath. "Stupid."
Clark blinked. "Excuse me?"
He pointed toward the kitchen.
That was, without a doubt, blood on his fingers. Clark forced himself to ignore it and said instead, "Oh, you're saying that about the broken thing? That happens sometimes. Don't worry, I'll clea—What are you doing?!" he cried, horrified.
Ultraman's eyes widened and his mouth opened, dropping his hand like a guilty dog with a shoe.
Clark tried to control his tone. "Hey, hey, no, it's okay. I just—" He blew out a deep breath. "I was suprised. I thought— Well, you're my clone so there was no way it was from the glass but I never could've expected... W-why would you... do that?" He couldn't even bring himself to say the words.
Ultraman wrung his bloody hands and turned away. "Stupid," he said bitterly.
Oh. He hadn't been talking about the broken glass. Clark's heart sank further. How often had this poor man been belittled and degraded for simple mistakes, that he'd adopted the cruel words as his own? How many times did the verbal attacks turn physical? When did he start 'punishing' himself? Clark opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. There were so many things he wanted to say—where could he begin?
An unnatural pop sounded from Ultraman's direction, and then a sharp inhale.
Within a millisecond, Clark was in front of him, holding his wrists. "Don't," he said gently but firmly.
The eyes looking back at him were immeasurably pained. Clark knew those eyes intimately, but not that gaze. It was like looking into a broken mirror. A shattered one.
"Don't hurt yourself." He looked down at the hands in his grasp—torn by teeth and distorted from dislocation—and his eyes welled up. "Please."
Ultraman's brow furrowed.
"You might not care, but I do. I care for everyone, no matter what. And that includes you." He looked at him earnestly. "You deserve to be treated better than this, despite what Luthor would have you believe. You're a person. You have dignity, you have worth. We all do, no matter our size or shape or age or past, or anything at all. God put us on on this earth to be the best people we can be, but how are we going to do that if we keep tearing each other down?" He lifted Ultraman's mangled hands for emphasis. "Or tearing ourselves apart." He relinquished his hold.
Ultraman stared down at his hands. His lips moved silently, like he was muttering something to himself or trying to find the right words. He looked at Clark's hands for a moment, and then at his face. "Per...son."
Clark nodded. "You and me, buddy."
There was something akin to wonder in his expression. "Me."