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It was never supposed to be that bad. Bruce knew that as soon as the words left his lips. He knew it before they even reached his lovers superhearing, knowing Clark was listening to every syllable, taking every vibration of the words like a shot to the head. Bruce knew the words were too harsh before he saw the falter in Clarks face. The hesitation. The hurt pushing through his emotions.
Clark may be the strongest being in the world, but he had given Bruce the power to hurt him, and Bruce had.
As his superpowered boyfriend flew out of the room, Bruce was left to wonder where this day had gone so wrong.
-~-
Bruce woke up angry. He couldn’t explain why, though he assumed it had something to do with a longer than usual patrol, a grumpy Damian, and the space beside him usually occupied by a certain Kryptonian. Today, however, Titus slept next to him. The loyal dog picked his large head up at the sight of the scared master of the house grumbling as he slipped out of the covers. Bruce had a pounding headache. He had no patience already as he stared at the nightstand where a single sheet of white paper was positioned.
Clark’s handwriting clearly scrawled on top in purple pen read,
Problem in Metropolis, wont be home before you go to work.
Love you!
Clark
Bruce sighed heavily, letting his shoulders slump. Great . He stood and went to shower and try to wash this melancholy mood off him. It proved futile, though, when he heard a pounding on his bedroom door.
“Father.” Came the short, simple demand. Bruce sighed audibly, hoping his son would catch the hint.
“Father, Grayson’s arrived. He’s….a mess.” Bruce froze.
Grayson.
Dick Grayson, his first partner, his first son…in every sense of the word, his prodigal son.
Bruce quickened his pace, finishing the shower and getting dressed in a time that would make Barry jealous. He opened the door, hoping to see Damian and ask a few questions, only to be disappointed when there was only thin air. He descended the stairs to the kitchen, where Alfred was trying to convince a twenty four year old Dick Grayson that drowning himself in cereal was hardly a way of making a broken heart fade.
“Dick?” Bruce questioned, instantly assuming his role as head of their broken little family of misfits and left overs. That caught the boys’ attention. Both Damian and Dick turned on their chairs and bruce saw them both clearly.
There was a hint of hope in Damian’s eyes that he would never show to anyone, a slight rejoicing knowing that his father would easily fix whatever was wrong with his favorite brother and mentor.
Dick’s face was different. The radiating light that bounced off of him like a chandelier was dark and gray, eyes red and runny with tears he was too tired to cry. His body relaxed at the sight of Bruce and he pushed the hair out of his eyes with his right hand while he tried to force a smile. It ended up…unnatural.
“Bruce….I-I’m sorry, I shoulda called…I…it’s stupid….I…” Dick was searching for a way to explain his actions. Something Bruce had made him do since he was eight; could Bruce really be blamed if he didn’t want to deal with deciphering preteen hormones?
Bruce smiled softly, mobbing closer to the boys and sliding a protective hand over both of their shoulders. His boys. His family. His sons.
“You’re always welcome here, Dick. We hardly see you as it is, don’t we Alfred?” he looked up at the longest resident of Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth.
“Oh yes, your moving to New York’s proven a bigger strain on this household than anticipated.” Alfred said with the slight accent he had kept somehow throughout the years. The years that showed almost non-existent on Alfred’s person. The dark hair was the same as Bruce remembered from his own childhood, much less Dick’s.
Bruce noticed the slight shift and blush from Dick as he moved to look away from Bruce and back to his bowl of Krispy Krunch.
“I…” he started, losing his words; not a usual problem for Bruce’s eldest.
“Kory broke up with him.” Damian said with a pointed emphasis on her name. There was a sort of protectiveness the residents of Wayne Manor felt for their bluebird. And there was no doubt Damian echoed his father’s opinion on Dick’s most recent girlfriend.
Bruce turned his gaze to his oldest partner, slid both hands under his arms, and pulled him up. With only slight embarrassment, Dick allowed himself to be picked up. He instantly took his old place, just under and behind Bruce’s left arm where his hip met his torso and Dick’s body still fit perfectly. The days Robin would hide under Batman’s cape from the Joker or Scarecrow were long gone, the hyper eight year old now grown to his full height and no loss of his energy.
It wasn’t much of a gesture, but it was what Dick craved. Bruce was safety and warmth and
home
-~-
The day dragged on at the office. His secretary couldn’t seem to keep up with Bruce’s influx of meetings and reports. He skipped lunch in order to get caught up again, only to be bombarded by even more work after he had finished.
Clark was no help. Bruce could see on the news feed on his laptop that Superman was protecting Metropolis from a series of bombing attacks that seemed to originate from a metahuman instead of a device.
Bruce would have to look into that.
He looked up as the short, brunette knocked on the door.
“Mr. Wayne? I’m going to go home now. Would you like anything?” Taylor asked, her voice small and shy.
Out of all the secretaries Bruce Wayne employed, Taylor was his utmost favorite. She didn’t read the gossip section, didn’t come to the Wayne Enterprise events, worked faster than a speeding locomotive, and she was smart. Bruce smiled genuinely at her.
“No, I was just about to head home myself. I’ll lock up, thanks Taylor.” He responded as she nodded and walked out of the office building. He slumped in his chair. Bruce could feel the exaughtion coming out of every pore on his body, the mood he had woken in not getting any better but only finding new ways to fuel itself.
He was hungry, not getting a meal since breakfast and he could feel his body shaking with every growl of his stomach. Upset that his boyfriend hadn’t seen him in person since three a.m. this morning when he had gotten back from a terrible patrol. He was angered that his eldest had to come home, the protective father instinct already flaring and wanting to go skin the exotic alien for hurting him. There wasn’t a single report or meeting that hadn’t crashed and burned with the flaming force of the fires of hell. He was tired. Tired of everyone and everything that had seemed to somehow
Get. On. His. Nerves.
-~-
Bruce just couldn’t win. He stared at the computer screen through the lenses of his mask. It was late, too late for Dick to let Damian stay up (because even if he wasn’t his real father, Dick was sure as hell not letting Damian inherit Bruce’s sleeping pattern). And he was alone in the cave.
He was reading about Metallo’s attack on Metropolis this afternoon.
His attack on Superman.
Bruce glared at the screen. He couldn’t believe the reports he was reading. He turned fast and faced the gust of wind, announcing his lover had returned.
Superman stood in front of him; tired, bruised, and glowing green slightly from an ounce of kryptonite dust left in his hair. Clark gave him a toothy smile before staggering and falling to his hands and knees, the flight appearing too much strain on the muscles that wanted to melt under the kryptonite’s effects. Bruce caught him, of course, but not before noticing the outline of each cut dusted with green that caught in his sticky red blood.
Bruce snarled. And held his lover tighter.
“What the hell do you think you were dong?” He demanded.
“No…’hey Clark…how’re you?’ ?” Clark looked up at the only support he had, only to receive a soft hit to the head that made his already concussed mind swim with pain. Clark winced and Bruce instantly regretted his actions. He pulled the Kryptonian to the cave’s showers and stripped him down. Clark couldn’t fight back if he wanted. He let Bruce get the kryptonite washed off of him, let Bruce take care of him.
Bruce wasn’t stupid. He knew Clark, he knew that he was fast to latch on but slow to trust and as soon as one possessed that trust….well,
That person had the power to control a god.
Here he was, living proof of this, Clark came to him at his weakest. The only time anyone could maim or hill him and he exposed himself, just for Bruce. Because he trusted him.
Clark was loyal to a fault.
-~-
They stood in Bruce’s master bedroom, each dressed in sweatpants and gray t-shirts. Clark’s arms were by his sides, while Bruce’s were crossed over his chest. He was angry and Clark knew it.
“You tried to take him, alone, when you knew he would have kryptonite on him?” Bruce questioned for the first time since Clark had begun to tell him the story of his day. Bruce’s eyes narrowed. His boyfriend didn’t trust him as much as he thought, why else would he try to take odds that he could lose?
“Bruce, cmon, don’t do this…I didn’t call for help, ok? I didn’t need any help.”
“You did when you showed up here.” He rebutted, knowing Clark could never beat him in an argument.
“Yes, I did, and I thank you for that. But I can handle Metallo. I think I know what I’m capable of.” He said pointedly, tired.
“You don’t.” Bruce felt the rage filling his veins. Clark looked up, startled by the statement.
“Excuse me?” Bruce knew that was a warning. A ‘don’t do this to me, Bruce, not now.’
“You heard me. Your control is weaker when under the effects of kryptonite. You could’ve lost control. Hurt someone.” He stated the fact like Clark wasn’t already scared to death of hurting someone.
“You don’t think I can handle myself? I can control myself just fine, Bruce!” Bruce knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew he was using Clark to get the bottled up emotions out, but it felt so good. So he allowed himself to continue.
“You haven’t proven to be able to control yourself when under its influence. You endangered everyone by not calling for help.” He glared at his boyfriend, daring Clark to respond.
“I knew exactly what I was doing! I can control myself, I’ve been living with these powers since I was a kid, unlike some people who just decided to become a bat.” Clark was tired, he was still feeling a bit of the unbalance from the concussion though he’d never admit it. he knew what he was saying was harsh, but it was the truth. He was found with these powers, Bruce…Bruce welcomed his life. Clark merely accepted his.
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. There was a short pause as Bruce selected his words carefully, then lost all control over his vocabulary.
“You’re right. I am the lucky one,” he began, keeping his eyes focused on Clark, “even if Krypton still existed, even if you never left the farm, even if you stayed here forever. No matter where you go you’ll always be a stranger in a world you don’t belong to.”
Clark froze. Whatever words he had stuck in his throat. Bruce knew it was a low blow, he knew Clark’s biggest insecurity and biggest fear was being alone. But bruce was also a realist. He knew there would never truly be a home for a man like Clark, no matter how hard he tried.
But Clark had tried to find one with Bruce, and now Bruce had shattered any hope of finding his place Clark had left. The loyalty and trust Clark had given to Bruce were the same things used to destroy him.
Clark’s eyes watered and he shut his mouth and nodded. “You’re right…I don’t belong” he said softly. “I’m sorry I even tried.”
The words were bitter and they left the room darker than Bruce expected as the alien flew out of the room with all his super human speed.