"Don't. Clark." Bruce exhales a humorless laugh, a helpless, bleak sound. He covers his face with his hands, bent forward. "Not after what you saw in that other world, not after what I've done. You can't. I can't.."

I can't take this kindness. Bruce hasn't spoken to anyone, hasn't let any of this go and for fuck's sake it's been a year. The idea of this is-- he can't, he can't even entertain the notion of it. He's been isolated with it for so long. There's no exit I can see.