This feels further afield than the starting topic, but that's alright. Clark listens from his corner of the couch, leg still idling against Bruce's ankle, the same negligently warm affection of a sleeping dog. Not negligent or sleeping, though, up here, as several things fit together.

It's a given, that Bruce had to learn everything he is from somewhere, and if someone had asked Clark how Batman came to be Batman, that's maybe what he'd say. Some part of him, though, seemed to imagine him as self-made, innately powerful, the way the rest of the Justice League is. Even as Bruce paints this picture, of a place and a person, Clark still does. And not just because of the dreams.

It's a lot, though. Different from the things Diana has told him about Amazon training drills and athletics, maybe even different to the regimes he has imagined someone like General Zod went through. He wants to hold Bruce's hand, so he does, reaching over to take it and drag it into his territory.

Not all of what Bruce says is so alien, anyway.

"What was the purpose? His, I guess." It doesn't sound like 'what's the point' so much as an honest question. The work, the mission, whatever it might be called. He calls it purpose.