Chapter Text
Clark is on his way to visit Bruce when he hears an outcry from a large crowd of people. A split-second after the first collection of voices, he hears the crunch and thud of bodies hitting the ground, followed by panicked screams. Frowning, he diverts his route to the source of the sounds -- a big top circus laid out on the outskirts of Trenton.
Peering through the reinforced canvas tent walls, he sees that the source of the commotion is two bodies lying in the center ring. Their shining, skin-tight clothing and the dangling trapeze setup above them tells the story of how they died. An accident. Unfortunate, but not within his purview.
He's about to leave when he notices the boy.
Short, compactly muscled, and dressed in the same red, green, and gold as the fallen couple, he looks to have been part of the troupe. Clark watches as he falls to his knees beside the couple and reaches shaking hands to touch them.
"no no no no no..." Clark hears him whisper. It's a heart-breaking sight. Clark and Bruce do their best to prevent crime and violence, but they can't prevent the other everyday accidents that cause injuries and take lives.
Clark's glad sometimes that he doesn't remember his own parents. They don't talk about it, but he knows that Bruce still remembers the night his birth parents were murdered in front of him. The memory continues to drive him, even though he has a new family now with Clark and Mother and Father and Father.
Clark lingers for a moment, watching as a cluster of scantily dressed performers and one man in rough work clothes surround the boy and bear him away from the scene of the tragedy. The man removes his large coat and drapes it over the boy's shoulders.
"It's going to be all right, son."
"We're here for you, honey."
"I think he's in shock."
"Jesus, who isn't?"
"Come here, Dickie, we'll get you something warm to drink."
"Someone call an ambulance and get the rubes outta here, fergodsake!"
The boy looks up at the adults surrounding him, and the angle allows Clark to view his face. His eyes are wide and blank with shock, but Clark notes their color -- a perfect sapphire blue. The observation sparks an idea, and Clark catalogs the boy's features: dark hair, small pert nose, well-shaped cheekbones, trim body. Even though Clark has always preferred women himself, even he can see the appeal of this kid. The boy is almost obscenely pretty. Maybe his stop here needn't be fruitless after all.
In the blink of a normal human's eye, he's swept down and in through the tent entrance, then out again with the boy in his arms.
He hears the confused shouts of the crowd over the whistling sound of air hastily filling in the path he had speared through it. He'd flown much slower on the way out, not wanting to make the boy sick, but still fast enough that no one would have seen anything more than a red and blue blur. The people will know from that what had taken the boy.
Speaking of whom...
"Y-You're Superman!" the boy exclaims. Gasping, he grabs hold of Clark's cape at the shoulder with one hand, and Clark's wrist with the other. "We're flying!" he squeaks. He cranes his neck around, staring at the houses, trees, and crop fields zooming past beneath them, quickly giving way to roads and high-rises.
"That's right." He banks and slows somewhat as they near their destination. "I'm taking you to meet someone."
The boy whips around to stare at him. "You mean...? He wants me?"
Clark doesn't provide an answer, and the boy doesn't try to get one, apparently content with assuming that he is not to be informed.
Bruce has a thing for orphans. Especially dark-haired, light-eyed boys. That's about as far as Clark is sure of. This isn't how it's usually done. Bruce has always chosen his boys himself. Each individual case is different, but Clark hopes he can tempt Bruce this time.
It's been a while since he's gotten Bruce a present.
***
He enters through the open skylight of the entrance hall as usual, and he stands the boy in the center, equidistant from the walls. Bruce would appreciate the nod towards security.
"Put your hands together," he instructs the boy, who obeys immediately, squeezing his fingers so tight that the contact points on his flesh go white. "Now don't move from this spot, understand?"
The boy nods. His breath catches and doesn't continue.
Clark doesn't let his amusement show until after he's flown out of the room. Once out of sight, however, he turns back to watch the boy through the wall. After a few moments, the boy exhales explosively. His eyes dart around the room, but otherwise he remains absolutely still, not even daring to turn his head. Smiling to himself, Clark goes to get Bruce.
He finds the man in his lab, studying a sheet of notepaper with an eyedropper of some chemical in one hand and a flashlight shining infrared light in the other. He's in his uniform. Perfect.
"Clark," he greets without turning around, as usual.
"Bruce. I brought you a present."
"Oh?"
"I picked him up from inland, just a few hundred miles from here."
Bruce puts down his tools and looks at Clark. "'Him'?"
"It's a boy. An orphan. His parents just died in an accident. I heard the noise and went to investigate and I saw him there. I thought, you haven't had a boy in a while. Here's one you might like."
"So you picked him up for me like some sort of puppy?"
"Uh, kind of?" Even with all his power, he still finds himself occasionally stumbling like a fool in front of Bruce. To tell the truth, that's one of the reasons he likes being with the man.
"Where is he now?"
Clark sweeps his vision back to the room where he'd left the boy. "He's still in the public chamber where I left him. He's very obedient, hasn't moved an inch."
"Great. So take him back now."
"He's already here. You might as well take a look at him. He's beautiful, just your type, I promise."
Bruce sighs, putting down the piece of paper he had just picked up again. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't have time for this right now."
Clark glances at the paper, focusing his vision. "Stock paper, printed on the West coast, according to the watermark. Acid-free. Custom impression. The Hideaway is an exclusive resort in Maryland. Ink is fairly common. If you show me a pen from the resort, I bet it'll match."
"That's not--"
"Most recent notes were phone numbers and directions to nearby tourist spots, nothing unusual or suspicious. Traces of cleaning solution all along the edge. Probably sat on a tabletop for a long time. No solar radiation damage, though. And yes, there's blood. Misting pattern points to a blunt instrument. Not enough to tell if drugs were involved. Now will you come with me?"
"Damn it, Clark, you can't just sweep in here with some stray and expect me to be appreciative of it."
"He watched his parents die right in front of him not ten minutes ago."
Bruce scowls. He knows full well that Clark is attempting -- if clumsily, compared to Bruce -- to manipulate him. Finally, his shoulders slump slightly. "Fine, I'll have the staff make the usual arrangements and then send him home. Now will you leave me alone?" Better, but not quite a victory.
"Don't you want to meet him? Maybe... you know, have a little fun."
"Clark!"
"You're so gloomy lately." Clark knows he's pouting. He can do that with Bruce.
Clark sees Bruce roll his eyes under his cowl. "I'm 'gloomy' all the time. I'm the Batman."
"You know what I mean. You aren't... happy. Selina isn't making you happy."
"You think sex will cure everything."
Clark chuckles. "Nothing can cure your attitude, but sex might help."
Again, the eyeroll.
"All right, the sooner I do this the sooner I can get back to work." Bruce rises in a huff (though Clark wouldn't describe it that way to his face) and prowls in full Dark Knight mode to the front entrance, Clark following.
When they enter, the boy utters a sharp yelp before clamping his mouth shut. He stares at Bruce with rounded eyes.
Bruce, for his part, stops dead just inside the entrance and crosses his arms, forcing Clark to sidle around him.
"For god's sake, Superman. Where'd you find him, nursery school?" The boy flinches and looks upset.
Clark feels suddenly embarrassed on both the boy's and his own behalf. He knows Bruce is exaggerating, but he does worry at the judgment. He has no experience with children. He's had very little contact with people outside of his family, and their parents remain much the same year by year, so he's never been very good at estimating human ages. It's hard to judge from Bruce, since he's older than Clark. Lois, too, he met as an adult.
As far as he knows, Bruce picks up boys of any age under twenty or so, but he only plays with the teenagers and older. It had been Clark's intention to get Bruce a gift, not a scholarship recipient.
Bruce shoots Clark a scowl and Clark can only return a look of chagrin. "Maybe he's just short for his age," he excuses himself quickly, hoping he's right about that.
"I'm a trapeze artist," the boy interjects with surprising boldness. "We're all kind of short. It's not anything wrong. It makes us better at what we do."
This defensive flurry of words seems to catch Bruce's attention. His gaze grows intent, causing the boy to blink rapidly and lick his lips. Then, amazingly, Bruce smiles. It's only a sliver, of course, the barest tightening of one corner of his mouth.
The boy must catch the small gesture, however, because he relaxes and smiles back.
"That certainly explains the outfit," Bruce drawls.
"What's wrong with my outfit?" the boy demands, at the same time as Clark expresses the same sentiment. He thinks the shimmery red and green and the bright gold lining rather festive.
Bruce gives him a flat glare. "Nothing, apparently, if you're colorblind, despite being able to see in ultraviolet and infrared."
The boy turns an awed expression to Clark. "You can do that? Really?"
Clark doesn't miss how this causes Bruce to frown infinitesimally.
"Superman can do a lot of party tricks," he answers for Clark. "Like bend steel, pick up trains, and destroy anyone who gets out of line. You ever see Superman deal with rebels?"
Dutifully, the boy shakes his head.
"That doesn't matter, because it's nothing compared to what I do."
The boy looks suitably impressed. "We would never break the Rules, sir. The whole circus obeys. Pop Haly always makes sure of it."
"Hm," is Bruce's only answer, but Clark can see that he's pleased.
"There, now," Clark interjects. "With a self-recommendation like that, how could you refuse?"
"How old are you?" Bruce snaps, purposely ignoring him. It's Clark's turn to roll his eyes.
The boy straightens as far as his small frame will allow. "I'm old enough for whatever you want," he states stoutly.
Bruce glowers. "Give me a number, kid."
The boy looks briefly intimidated under the weight of the Batman's interrogation. He rallies quickly, however. "I'm thirteen next month."
"Have you ever had an erection?"
The boy gapes, and his face goes red. Clark thinks it's adorable. He hopes Bruce agrees. "Uh? I-- I--"
"It's a simple question."
"Y-Yes, sir." The boy is now crimson. Clark wonders if he still has feeling in his hands, considering how tightly he's still clenching them together.
"Have you ever masturbated?"
"...yes."
"Hm." Bruce looks the boy up and down very deliberately. "Wynston." He speaks in a normal voice, but a moment later, his valet appears and bows from the waist.
"Sir?"
"Take this boy to the guest room. Usual arrangements."
"Yes, sir."
With that, Bruce leaves, swirling his dark cape behind him. It's a good sign if Bruce is going to the trouble of being dramatic. Clark hurries to follow him.
"I was right, wasn't I?" he boasts, once they're out of earshot of the entrance hall. "You like him."
Bruce grunts gruffly, but he's got that tiny smirk again. "We'll see."
***
***
END Part 1.