Bruce comes again, but it's secondary to the catharsis of just being here like this with Clark, and accepting the knowledge of what will come after; being bruised and sprained and needing careful attention once it's all wound down. Setting aside ego and pretense and doing nothing more than existing, experiencing, being swept up.

When the chains are snapped, Bruce curls his arms around Clark. His knees have kind of given up at this stage, but they're still as entangled as can be. There's a quiet thunk, jingle; his right cuff completely falling off his wrist, having at some point escaped. Like a magic trick.

He buries his face against Clark's hair and clings to him, finding the strength somewhere. Trembling entirely out of his control, on some wave of psychological release. It'll hurt, and soon, but that doesn't matter; he's used to weathering pain brought on by hate and violence. He's good at it. Getting to shoulder it because of something good, and give this to Clark (and maybe even be punished for the things he's done to him) is euphoric.