Nothing broken, at least, Clark's head bowed as he studies Bruce's hand. If it was dislocated, it seems to have righted itself in the flurry. A sprain, then. He gently wraps his hand around the site where he knows it'll be sore, uncomfortably cold which nevertheless throws a blanket over the ache.

Not that Bruce isn't good with pain, but it'll help recovery. Clark looks up when he's done this. It's hard not to think in terms of colleteral damage. There was none, save for Bruce's hand. So it's fine. But it's not.

"I tried waking you," he says, quietly. "And I think that made it worse."

He's not sure he can parcel up Bruce's guilt and take it from him, much as he'd like to, and so he leaves that where it is, and asks, instead, "Tell me about it?"