Chapter Text
Superman may be a superhero, and yes he may have powers, and yes he may have saved Stiles’ life a time or two. But right now it was Clark Kent who was his Saviour. Because it was Clark who was walking through the bullpen with a bag full of takeout.
“God, you're my hero.” Stiles groaned, as the smell of Chinese food permeated through the meeting room. Even elbow deep in a bag of takeout, Stiles didn't miss Clark's shy grin or the way he nervously reached up to adjust his glasses. That was something he did a lot, Stiles had noticed, like a nervous tick. It was kind of endearing.
“This looks like it's gonna be a late one.” Clark said. He was looking down at the conference table, and the files scattered across the surface (in a totally unorganised organised fashion).
“Oh yeah.” Stiles said with his mouth already half full of noodles, “I'm making progress but I definitely won't get this finished for the Sunday edition.”
“You need some help?” Clark smiled at him. Just a small smile, an upturn of the corner of his mouth, but it made Stiles’ heart jump. He quickly swallowed, suddenly extremely conscious of the way he had been shovelling chow mein into his mouth.
“I mean…” Stiles hesitated for a split second, “Yeah. Sure. If you have no plans.” His heart shouldn't be this susceptible to the way Clark beamed at him.
“Luckily for you, I do not.”
Stiles stared at him for just a second longer than was probably appropriate. He was settling into one of the chairs and pulling files towards himself without a word. Making it known just how comfortable he was with Stiles’ method of organisation. Not even his Dad could keep tabs on his files during an investigation.
“Stiles?” Clark's voice filtered through to his ears, said in a way that suggested he'd already asked a question that Stiles had missed through the thudding of his heart.
“Sorry,” Stiles shook his head slightly, “Food. It distracted me.” He put the carton down, ignoring the amused look he got in return.
“What do you need?” Clark repeated.
“This guy.” Stiles spun around on his heel and jabbed a finger at the photo of the guy in the middle of the corkboard behind him. The surface was full of pinned photos and news clippings, and long chains of looping coloured strings, “But to get him, who I really need…is this guy.” He reached up further, tapping his finger on the second guy in question, “Out of everyone here, he is the key to all of this. I just know it.”
“What makes you say that?” Clark said from behind him. He was assessing the board with quick flicks of his eyes from left to right. Following the lines of string, connecting the dots.
“You don't get named in this many police reports without being involved in some way. Trust me, I of all people should know.”
“I thought your Dad was the Sheriff.” Clark said with a raised eyebrow.
“I never said I was charged with anything.” Stiles grinned, wide and mischievous. Clark's response was a faux disapproving shake of his head and an exaggerated tut that didn't do anything to dispel the blush that was creeping across his cheekbones.
“What about you?” Stiles asked, once he had picked up the carton of noodles again. He jumped up onto the desk, sitting sideways with the corkboard to the right of him and Clark to the left, “Any law breaking? Rule breaking? General misdemeanours?”
“Nothing I was ever charged with.” Clark parroted back, causing Stiles to throw his head back and laugh.
“Oh please. Young farm boy like you. I bet you used to help old ladies cross the street.”
“Yep, jay walked those old ladies right across the road.” Clark laughed, “What can I say, I'm just a rule breaker.”
Stiles had to tear his gaze away from Clark when he reached up to adjust his glasses. Head ducked slightly as he chuckled at his own joke. His smile was bright and genuine, it reached his eyes, where the beginnings of crows feet played around the corners. The tell tale sign of a happy man, who had been given a good life. Stiles could feel himself getting sucked in.
No one in Metropolis had caught his attention until this small town farm boy wandered into the office looking lost. Stiles never expected him to have lasted longer than a day or two, he had looked like he was profoundly in over his head. But he was still here, looking far more confident than he had any right to be, having only been there a handful of weeks.
“Are you settling in Kent?” Stiles asked, with his chopsticks raised halfway to his mouth.
“Yeah.” Clark said with another small smile, “I think so.”
-
“Stiles!”
“Ohhhh, heyyy there.” Stiles' head lolled to one side. He tried to lift his hand to wave, as feeble as it may have been, but metal restraints prevented him from moving more than an inch.
“Long time, no see.” There was a haze around the edges of his vision, making those concerned cheekbones go in and out of focus.
“Stiles, did they drug you?” Superman ripped off the cuffs and reached out to help Stiles sit up. His hands were weights on Stiles' body, stopping him from floating away.
“Huh?” Stiles felt like he was swimming in red and blue.
“Stiles?” A pair of hands were on his face, encouraging him to look up and meet Superman's eyes.
“Green eyes.” Stiles murmured. He knew he was talking nonsense, had spent a lifetime talking shit one way or another, but he couldn't seem to stop. A world of green eyes awaited him, he was floating away into a haze of red. But not blood red. Bright red. Superman red.
“They asked - you know - physical description. Green eyes. I didn't know before.” Stiles’ speech was thready.
“Come on. Let's get you out of here.” Superman wound his arms around Stiles, one arm under his knees, the other under his shoulders.
“Physical description.” Stiles murmured, he was losing consciousness. He could feel himself falling into the darkness, and wholeheartedly allowed himself to do so now that help had arrived.
“Red… Blue…” The pause between each word got longer and longer, “Cheekbones……Green eyes…..” Superman thought he was asleep, until one final word slipped from his mouth, barely a murmur against his shoulder, and whispered only a second before Stiles truly passed out, “Glasses.”
-
First there was beeping. Flitting through his consciousness, steady and familiar. Then there was a soft murmur of conversation, someone saying “sir” someone else saying, “doctor”. He could feel the puncture holes in his skin, wires and cables, and the familiar itch on the back of his hand where an IV was placed. He had a headache, which was why he hadn't opened his eyes yet, but he knew someone was next to him. Not holding his hand, but close, because he could feel the weight of someone's hand and arm pulling against the blanket.
“Hey.” A soft voice, quiet and soothing even to Stiles’ head.
“Head.” Stiles said.
“Headache?”
“Hmm.”
The hand lifted from the blanket to press a call button over his head. And then the sound of a light switch clicking off, dimmed the light creeping in under his eyelids.
“Is that better?”
Stiles opened one eye. Clark was sitting next to him, elbows on his knees, chin cradled in his hands. Watching him intently.
“Hi.” Stiles whispered, “What are you doing here?” Because he was well aware of the family only rule, and Clark Kent didn't qualify. Even if Stiles could feel his heart miss a beat when he smiled that familiar smile.
“Special permission from the Beacon Hills Sheriff. Your Dad was really worried, he didn't want you to wake up alone.”
“My Dad-” Stiles tried to sit up, but Clark's hand on his shoulder kept him down. Thankfully. Because the aborted movement made Stiles’ brain rattle in his skull and the headache crept further down the side of his face.
“I've been keeping contact with him. Last I heard he was trying to cover his shifts for the next week so he could visit.”
“No,” Stiles said, “No, tell him I'm alright. Tell him I'll ring him when I can.”
“Stiles-”
“No.” He didn't want his Dad to travel across the country for something as trivial as this. He was fine, he wasn't dying, he was absolutely fine. And he knew his Dad couldn't really afford to just jump on a plane at a moments notice, he'd be using up some savings at the very least.
“Mr Stilinski.” Their argument was interrupted by a Doctor striding through the open doorway, “Glad you're back with us. How are we feeling?”
Stiles looked pointedly at Clark, who sighed, defeated, and stood up.
“I'll give you a minute with the Doctor.” Stiles was happy to see him pulling his phone out of his pocket as he left, and hoped he could reach his Dad before he decided to hop on a plane and cross the country like a madman.
-
“Truth serum!” Stiles exclaimed as he hopped up the stairs in his building. Clark followed close behind carrying Stiles’ hospital bag with a fond smile. He was clutching the piece of paper he'd requested from the Doctors, a printed list of toxins they'd found in his system, and was alternating between walking about with it under his nose, and waving it about excitedly. He had a feeling they probably weren’t supposed to give it to him, but it's amazing what you could get away with when you smiled sweetly at an intern.
“Truth serum!” He exclaimed again with a laugh, “That's insaaaane. Out of everything I've been through in my life, this is definitely the first time I've ever been drugged with truth serum.” Stiles grinned back at Clark, glancing over his shoulder. He did fell slightly guilty that he was hopping about like this, feeling completely normal and capable, while Clark was the one lugging around his bag.
“I could have taken that, you know?” Stiles said, nodding towards the duffle that Clark had slung over his shoulder, “I really am okay, now that it's out of my system.”
“Just let me help you Stiles, I felt pretty useless for a while there. This,” He made a gesture with the bag, “This I can do.”
Stiles unlocked the door to his apartment. And immediately flushed. He hadn't really considered the state he'd left it in when he'd rushed out to follow a lead. Which had, in the end, led to him being tied up for two days and in the hospital for another two.
“Oh god.” Stiles said, “I had takeout I was saving.” He nudged the files off the couch and onto the coffee table, trying his best to inconspicuously make some room somewhere.
“Sorry about the mess.” He nudged a pile of laundry towards the utility room with his foot, “I don't even want to know what the inside of my fridge looks like.”
“It's okay.” Clark shrugged. He put Stiles’ bag next to the end of the couch and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Do you…need anything? He asked haltingly.
“I think I'll be alright.” Stiles said. He had wandered over to the kitchen and was poking through various takeout containers that absolutely needed to be thrown out. He huffed to himself at the waste.
“Right.” Clark hesitated. Stiles stood up, and looked across the room.
“Thank you.” Stiles said. He shut the fridge, and walked back towards the living area of the apartment. Filing ‘Clean The Fridge’ away in his mind for later.
“Don't worry about it.”
“No, seriously. Clark-” Stiles reached out and touched his forearm. He wanted to make sure Clark knew how much he meant this, that it wasn't just a standard thanks. “Thank you. You've been by my side for days. Literally, days. That's…well, more than I could have ever asked.”
“You don't need to ask.” Clark said. He took his hands out of his pockets, and the slight movement dislodged Stiles loose grip. Stiles would have been upset by it, probably would have taken a second to mourn the lost contact, if it weren't for the way Clark's fingers snatched his own out of midair. “You never need to ask, Stiles.”
The touch lasted a beat too long to be accidental. Stiles held his breath. Clark's movements were slow and unhurried and Stiles revelled in the soft touch. It wasn't in his head, couldn't be, a guy didn't touch another guy like this unless there was something between them. No matter what Scott said, he knew there was no way this was all his imagination.
“Clark…” Stiles didn't know what to say. But it was enough to make him jump out of the stupor thay had settled between them.
“Uhh, I should-” Clark hiked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the door, “Should let you get settled.”
“Yeah, sure.” Stiles agreed. He tucked his hands into his hoodie pockets, he could feel his skin tingling where Clark had touched him.
“I'll see you at the office?”
“Bright and early.”
He showed Clark out, giving him a half hearted wave goodbye when he paused on the top step to look back at Stiles. And once he was out of sight Stiles closed his door and slumped back against it.
“Stupid.” He whispered to himself and thumped his head back against the wood in the vague hope that it would knock some sense into him.
“What are you doing Stiles?” He said to himself. He scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing his palms into his eyes until black spots danced across his vision, “Off limits. Totally off limits.”
The knock on his window made him jump. As it would have made anyone jump really, considering he was five floors up and nowhere near a fire escape. The flick of red material behind the blinds was enough of an answer and Stiles rushed across the room to open the balcony door.
“Hi.” Stiles said, lamely. Wondering if today was the day for striking out with cute guys. And then wondering if Superman could even be counted as a viable cute guy.
“Hi.” Superman grinned blindingly, obviously not giving any thought to how lame Stiles sounded, “It's nice to see you up and about.” Which didn't sound like a platitude either, he looked like he was genuinely happy that Stiles was home safe and sound. Stiles figured that caring about people was part and par of the whole Superhero shtick, you wouldn't be flying into burning buildings if you didn't care. But this sounded way too genuine to be a generic ‘I'm glad you're okay’ greeting.
“I heard you saved my life again.” Stiles couldn't help mirroring the grin aimed at him. He took a step back from the balcony to allow Superman to step into his apartment. The moment he stepped through Stiles had to mentally pinch himself, this larger than life man, this…this alien (if Stiles was thinking about it pragmatically), was in his living room.
Superman's grin didn't disappear entirely, but it did settle into something fond. His eyes wandered around the apartment. Green eyes, Stiles suddenly remembered. Stiles felt like he was being inspected, from the way his gaze flicked down to the files on the coffee table, to the slight turn of his head as he looked over to the kitchen. It was a small apartment, but Stiles liked it, it was in a good location, his neighbours were quiet and courteous, and he had been really excited about getting a place with a balcony.
“You don't remember?” Superman finished his brief inspection. Stiles felt like it had taken an age, but it had only taken a few seconds, long enough for him to have almost forgotten what he'd said in the first place.
“Bits.” Stiles shrugged with a grimace, “I was pretty out of it.”
“They drugged you?” Stiles knew he must have been in some state when he'd been rescued. Even after waking up it had taken another day for the drugs to fully flush out of him. And for that first day he had felt drifty and floaty sprouting off random things to Clark who had sat with him through all hours of the day. So God only knows what he'd said to Superman.
“Some sort of cocktailed truth serum.”
“To ask you about me?” He was frowning now, looking Stiles over as if he was trying to spot something the Doctors had missed.
“Apparently I'm the expert.” Stiles shrugged, “Luckily for you, I don't actually know anything.”
“I'm sorry.” Superman said.
“Don't worry about it. It's not the first time I've been kidnapped and it probably won't be the last.” Stiles didn't let him get a word in edgeways before quickly changing the subject, “What you should be sorry about, is taking me flying for the first time while I was unconscious.”
“You want to fly?”
“Dude. Everyone wants to fly. It's like the number one answer for ‘what superpower would you want’.”
“Well okay then.” He held a hand out.
Stiles stared at him.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”