"If anyone in this world would," he says, his voice grating with exhausted disdain. He's mentioned Joker before, and of course the clown's shadow looms dark and large even over an already-shadowy place like Gotham. And closer to home. Joke's on you, Batman, scrawled on the body armor of his dead child, preserved in a place where Bruce has to look at it, every day.

But, he shrugs. It's not that, specifically. Quiet again, for a moment. That shrug was not casual, despite the effort he's putting into the appearance of being fine with this conversation. (Stupid. Clark knows he isn't, and he's safe with Clark.)

"I almost married the greatest living thief on Earth." His thumb passes over Clark's, an absent touch, as if some part of his brain is thinking about Mr and Mrs Lane-Kent. Bruce Wayne is the ultimate bachelor. Surely he's fine with all the times he nearly nailed down a committed relationship only to have it blow up in his face. "In the dream, I feel ... inescapably cornered. I'm furious, and exhausted, and the most resentful I've ever felt. I don't have any more limbs to gnaw off in the fucking trap. I'm drowning, and yet I still find it important to let Joker know his former lover defected to me. The only reason— the only reason I wouldn't ask Selina Kyle to help me is if she were dead. If this is real, I think he's going to kill her. I think he figures out who Batman is, and finds her. To make sure he's the only option."