Chapter Text
Clark had already watched the video five times over. Still, he couldn't make much sense of it. Sat at his cramped desk, littered with stray papers and bitten biros, hidden away amongst the shared office space at the Daily Planet, Clark tilted his head in confusion and pressed play again.
It begins - as it has the last five times - with a blur of motion. And then nothingness. Just pure black for a full three seconds whilst the roar of oncoming traffic and begrudging Gothamites soundtracks the dull image. But then, within the blink of an eye, the poor quality phone camera pans up to focus on a darkened rooftop.
The roof, too high up to get a good picture and with the added permanent cloak of darkness that swathes Gotham, makes it impossible to tell who the two figures, stood mysteriously atop the rooftop, are. Or, at least that would be the case if one of them weren't dressed in the most recognisable, fear-inducing iconography known to man. Big and dark and scary with pointed ears and made up of all sharp edges, wearing the night around him like a second skin. No, there was no mistaking who this was.
But what Clark is more concerned about is who is that up there with The Batman? The pixelated view from the ground below allowed Clark to barely make out the pair making agitated movements; hands thrown up in exasperation, fingers jabbed at faces, a bit of dramatic hair pulling from the mystery man. But, it wasn't until the Bat started crowding the other guy, herding him towards the edge of the building like a predator hunting easy prey, that Clark had started to get worried.
The stranger had pointed a sharp finger at what Clark knew to be the unyielding chest plate of Batman's suit, and Batman was quick to brush the jab off. Perhaps a little too quick, because as he swatted the man's hand away at the wrist, the stranger suddenly lost all balance and went hurtling over the edge of the building, without so much a scream. It happened so fast that it had even Clark's stomach turning in grim anticipation.
A plethora of gasps from the onlooking Gothamites chorused the fall.
It was at that exact moment; a man falling to his sure death at the hands of Justice, that Clark is sure he hears a laugh. A sweet, lilting laugh, so pure that just for a second it has Clark believing that no evil could possibly exist in this world. But, before Clark can get a good read on it, the chaos is soon righted as the Bat quickly throws himself over the edge of the building, barreling after the stranger whilst simultaneously securing himself to the side of the building with a grappling hook.
The stranger is caught swiftly, the thick band of Batman's arm catching him around the waist. The stranger's back bowed gracefully as he hung limp in the Bat's arms. The pale line of his neck, bared under the moonlight. The air seemed to expel out of him, his chest rising and falling heavily as he merely hung his head back, watching the gloomy Gotham night sky with calm interest, oh, look is that a star I see beyond the pollution? Oh, no. Silly me, just another private jet, as he let himself be lowered back onto the ground.
As he descended lower and lower, Clark was able to make out the beginnings of an individual. A three piece suit, tailor made if they way it clung to the man's thick body was anything to go by. Clark squinted at the small screen of his computer, The suit was a deep blue, so dark it was almost black with an eccentric pinstriped pattern. The stripes themselves, not the usual muted white, but instead a shocking electric yellow. Almost the exact same colour as the Bat logo.
Clark honed his vision in further, making out the smooth slide of a satin shirt, with elongated lapels, between them perched a thick broach that was unmistakably in the shape of a bat, with swooping chains hanging low from the bat's open wings and curling back up to the points of the lapels. Clark was sure he caught the refracted light of glitter lining this strange man's eyes. Oxfords, not brogues, on his feet with a steep platform.
A rush of murmurs came crackling through Clark's PC speakers as the stranger found his feet - Batman releasing him, tentatively. The stranger's head was now lowered, his hands clutching at Batman's side and Clark couldn't help but notice just how much this man resembled -
He raised his head, promptly ignoring the numerous camera's pointed at him, along with the series of shrieks and cries, to turn to the Bat. Oh, that was definitely Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne had been caught on video having a mysterious, midnight spat with The Batman on a dark and private rooftop, only to promptly fall off the roof and get caught heroically by said Bat, and was now sporting that particularly grim, chastising face, Clark had often seen him use with his multiple sons at many galas and events.
Except now he had it pinned to The Batman. Multi- billionaire , playboy, Brucie Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, was scolding The Batman. He was getting so heated, in fact, that his cheeks were flushing, high on his cheekbones. What happens next is still just as surprising to Clark as it was on his first watch.
The Batman reaches down and with a leather-clad hand pinches one of Bruce Wayne's blushing cheeks, even going as far to give it a playful little tug. The crowd of onlookers all stared with bated breath, waiting silently for what they all knew was sure to come.
Bruce Wayne, took a deep breath, and simply exploded with rage.
Bruce was planted firmly in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. He doesn't think it's possible to get an angrier, but then Dick opens his mouth from the driver's seat and Bruce simply seethes with rage. Exhaling a dramatic breath, he closes his eyes, bringing up a cold hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
The ice of his fingers at least soothed the raging hotness of his face. He fought a shiver, they had been arguing up on that dreadful rooftop for well over half an hour and without the insulation of his suit, the cold had seeped deep into his bones.
"Do not even try to speak to me right now, Dick."
Dick chuckled beneath the cowl and Bruce felt the vein in his forehead jump.
"And turn the fucking heat up." Bruce snapped.
"Yes, Sir." Came Dick's reply, sounding full of mirth.
It wasn't long before they were back at the Batcave and Alfred was soon fussing over them, hauling them out of the car, straightening Bruce's clothes and checking Dick for injuries. Once the old man was satisfied, he pulled them into the mouth of the cave and forcefully sat them down to debrief.
Tim was perched at the control panel, with one foot tucked neatly underneath him, dressed in a worn Beatles t-shirt and extremely oversized sweats that may or may not belong to Jason, the drawstring pulled as tight as it will go. His hair is wild about his face and his sleepy smile was a breath of fresh air, until he too, opened his mouth.
"Have a nice trip, Dad?"
Of course Tim would've already seen the flood of videos that had been posted online. Knowing him, he's probably made the image of him looking helpless and coquettish in Dick's arms, his lockscreen already.
Bruce scowled. "Tim," he said, bitingly.
"Now, Master Bruce." Alfred said, warningly.
Bruce wanted to throw an epic fit at being parented for parenting, but he wasn't sure that would give him much credit in the eyes of, well anyone, really. Tim stuck his tongue out behind Alfred's back and Bruce narrowed his eyes at his middle son. Dick pulled the cowl off with a dramatic sigh and rose to his feet, making his way over to his little brother. He drops a heavy hand in Tim's messy hair, ruffling the lank locks and Tim leans into the touch like a cat.
"There! That is exactly what I'm talking about, Dick." Bruce rushed to say, jumping to his feet.
Dick grips Tim's hair harder, possessively. Tim doesn't seem to mind, grateful to be touched at all. It only made Bruce more upset.
"You constantly undermine me when it comes to the little ones."
Tim frowned, "I'm literally seventeen."
Bruce ignored him. "You act like their parent all the damn time and you let them run wild! You coddle them."
"Well someone has to act like their parent." Dick snarked.
"What?" Bruce asked, feeling the sting of the knife. Alfred's pointed cough did not help matters.
"You're never here, B." Dick accentuated his stinging statement with a soft look at his younger brother as he dragged a thumb down the side of Tim's cheek. "Someone has to look out for them."
Bruce scoffed at the gall of his eldest, at least he didn't raise a coward. "You call that looking out for them?" Bruce asked, his arms flying out in exasperation.
"He was fine," Dick urged.
"He was on his own."
"For like, two seconds! He's not a baby anymore, B."
Before Bruce could even rationalise the thought, it tumbled out of him like a confession. "Yes, he is!"
Dick just stared back at him, those startling blue eyes, so similar to his own, filled with pity. Dick looked a little dazed and a little sorry and Bruce loathed being so seen.
"Where is he, anyway?" Bruce asked, suddenly feeling immensely tired.
Alfred shot a pointed look towards the rafters, "Arrived an hour before you, Master Bruce." Looking up, Bruce felt all the tension and anger drain from him at the sight of his youngest son hanging from the rafters like the bat he was born to be.
Sighing, he says, "Come down please, Damian."
Damian dropped, like a cat landing perfectly on the balls of his feet, he is still in his Robin suit, his hair wild and pointing skyward. Bruce cocked his head, silently beseeching. Damian huffed his displeasure but relented quickly, sidling up to Bruce. Bruce was quick to grab him, griping him by the shoulders and pulling him into a deft embrace. Damian groaned into his chest, but allowed the manhandling. Bruce drew back, grabbing his son by the cheeks, still full with baby fat, tilting his head up to look deeply into those big green eyes.
"Are you okay?"
Damian rolled his eyes, in that literal way he does, actually turning his eyes three-sixty and Bruce couldn't resist a smile.
"Yes, father. I'm not actually a baby, you know?"
Bruce, ever indulgently, swooped down to place a soft kiss on the full curve of Damian's cheek and before Damian could squirm away, pressed his cheek against Damian's downy one. "You will always be my baby, Dami."
At this, Damian finally pushed Bruce off with a scowl. Frowning at the loss of contact, Bruce spun Damian around, placing a heavy arm on his smallest son's shoulder, letting his hand settle protectively on his small chest. Predictably, Damian attempted to make a run for it, but Bruce needed the reassurance of his son's rising and falling chest beneath his palm, after the shock of tonight, and so, Bruce just pulled Damian firmly back into his side.
Tim's snickering was not helping. "Dad," Damian all but whined. Bruce just pulled him closer, tucking him under his arm and running a knuckle up and down a velvety cheek, the way he knows he likes. Bruce tried not to preen, outwardly at the way Damian practically melts into him. Instead, he turns his attention to his eldest son.
"Oh! I coddle them?" Dick asked, pointedly.
"Dick, please just explain it to me one more time."
Dick nodded, as good as he is. "We were out on patrol. Batman and Robin, lest I remind you I was doing you a favour, old man, whilst you were off schmoozing in that fancy suit of yours."
Bruce looked down at his pinstriped suit and frowned, "I like this suit."
"Yeah, it's very subtle." Tim said, dryly.
Bruce huffed and motioned for Dick to go on.
"It was quiet, nothing of note, a few muggings, an odd assault. Nothing Dami couldn't handle. But then, I heard it. That damned laugh."
Bruce grimaced, the thought of the Joker, enough to make him feel ill.
"After everything that happened with Jason, I didn't want to risk him getting his hands on Damian." Dick looked at his littlest brother with a painfully soft expression, "He's so small, Dad." He added, quietly.
Bruce felt Damian stiffen against him, obviously offended.
"Smaller than you ever were, Timmy." Dick said with an affectionate ruffle of his hair.
"Impossible." Damian demanded. "Drake is abnormally small."
Dick shot a grin at Damian who scowled back at him.
Bruce tried not to let his pounding heart, the rush of adrenal fear pumping beneath his skin, burst the warm atmosphere his son's had created. Without letting the anxiety seep into his tone he asked, "The Joker was there?"
Dick looked up at him grimly and nodded tersely. "Yeah. I told Dami to stay put, which was more of a battle than it should've been." He said, an uncharacteristically stern edge to his voice. "I left him, with every intention to call for back up. But by the time I caught sight of the Joker, Catwoman was already on him. Quite literally."
Bruce felt the relief wash over him like a cool breeze, "Selina got him?" He asked, needing to hear the words out loud.
"She got him, he's back in Arkham, right Tim?"
Tim nodded animatedly, pulling up his fresh mugshot from the Arkham's encrypted archives. There he was, the bane of Bruce's life, dressed to kill in his signature aubergine three-piece. His lilac bowtie, loose about his neck. His pale face, streaked with dry blood. He held up his identity placard crookedly, his tongue licking out into the air lewdly. Bruce internally groaned, knowing that pose was struck specifically for him. Hello, Batsy! He can practically hear that lilting voice already. Hello, Joker.
"As soon as I knew the Joker was handled, I went straight back to Damian. But you were already on the roof with him." Dick added, sheepishly.
"Well, to be fair, Dick, I really didn't expect to look out of the window of a charity event to see my son swinging from the side of a roof, hanging from a grappling hook, like a spider. Alone!"
"It's not like I haven't done that before." Damian said, petulantly.
"For my own sanity, I am going to pretend that I didn't hear that."
"He's fine, B" Dick said.
"I know," Bruce muttered, feeling absurdly old. "I just can't help but worry that Talia is waiting around every corner to steal him away."
Once again, Damian tenses against him, and Bruce squeezes him a little tighter. "I won't let her get to you, Dami. You don't have to go back there, if you don't want to."
"I don't want to." Damian said, firmly.
"Then you won't." Bruce swore.
Alfred gave a stern cough and they all turned to look at him. "I believe it is time for bed, Master Bruce."
Bruce took in the heavy way, Damian was leaning on him, the way Dick's smile didn't quite reach his eyes and the way Tim was sprawled out atop the desk, his head resting dangerously on his arm.
Feeling a fizzing warmth settle at the core of him, Bruce conceded "Yes, I think you're right, Alfred."
Damian immediately tried to move, perhaps knowing exactly what was about to be asked of him.
Bruce held on tightly, "Please, Dami. Let me hold you."
Damian sighed like he had just been asked to choose between the sun and the moon. A tiny nod, that anyone else would've missed, was Bruce's answer. He bent at the knees, hooking his arms under Damian's thighs and pressing him firm against his stomach. Damian's arm immediately came up to wrap around his neck, his knees wrapping around Bruce's waist, legs hanging limply.
Bruce pressed his face into the side of Damian's head, nosing at his thick hair. He smelt like Gotham pollution and patchouli, an oil his mother sends him from home, the smallest part of home he allows himself to carry with him. The smallest part he isn't ashamed of. A few seconds of being held tightly in his father's arms and Damian was quickly washed of his hard exterior. The soft edges of him pressing into Bruce's sharpened ones.
Dick came up behind them, Tim pressed to his back like a back pack, his arms hooked around Dick's neck and clutching harshly at the cape of the Batsuit. Tim was about thirty seconds to dreamland, his head already lolling on Dick's shoulder. Dick snagged one of Damian's calves, unlacing the knee high boots gently.
"I'm sorry, Dami. I wasn't thinking about Talia or the league. Were you terribly scared?" The question would have sounded teasing coming from Jason's mouth, but Dick's sincerity was laced through every word.
Damian finally let his head fall heavily on Bruce's shoulder. His cheek pressed awkwardly and his soft breath hitting the curve of Bruce's neck. He attempted a shake of his head and when that didn't work, he uttered a smushed "No."
"No, of course you weren't. What was I thinking?" Dick cooed.
Damian humphed as Dick successfully removed both his boots, passing them to Alfred.
Bruce turned, catching the back of Dick's head with his hand, pulling him down to press a kiss to his temple. Bruce basked in the feel of it for a moment, feeling that familiar pride welling up inside him, letting it fill him, consume him until he could feel nothing else. Nothing but love.
"I'm sorry" He says, softly. "I know you're just trying to help. I just - Thank you. They need you, as much as they need me. They love you and I do too. More than anything."
"I love you too, Dad."
Bruce stepped back, placed a hand on Tim's cheek, that he instinctively nuzzled into. "You'll settle him in?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah." Dick said, fondly.
"Goodnight, boys."
Bruce could've cried when they all responded, simultaneously.
Dick took off with Tim on his back and Bruce turned to face Alfred.
"Jason?"
"Already tucked up in bed, Sir." Bruce's entire body sagged in relief. "Took three rounds of hot chocolate to get him there, but there he is."
"He didn't go out?" Bruce asked, a little disbelievingly.
"No." Alfred said, stiffly. "Although it took some convincing."
Bruce nodded, knowing all too well how hard it is to keep Jason off the streets.
Bruce was quick to ascend from the cave, up past the clock, through the foyer and up the swirling stairs to the second floor. Damian's room was in the middle of the floor, tucked up between his brother's. Although unplanned, it became something of a godsend when Damian was still new and suffered never-ending nightmares. Bruce was reassured knowing if he were to fail to hear Damian's screams, he would at least have a sibling at his side before he could wake.
Bruce kicked opened Damian's door, gently. A small tiffany lamp in the shape an owl was perched on his desk, already lit, bathing the room in a lush orange glow. The desk was scattered with papers, homework, Bruce hoped. A thick stack of medical books piled up on the floor, a stethoscope balancing on top of them. Bruce was proud of his youngest for being able to find something in this bleak world that makes him happy. That speaks to his soul. That makes him want to be better.
Bruce is grateful he got to find that for himself, when so many in this world will never get the chance or will never be brave enough to take the opportunity.
Smiling to himself, Bruce turns to finally notice Titus sprawled out on Damian's overly large bed. Bruce tutted and the Great Dane awoke from his slumber. Bruce shooed him off the bed and pulled back the covers to place Damian atop the bed. Bruce made quick work of the Robin suit, peeling it off and replacing it with a pair of linen pyjamas.
With a final kiss goodnight, Bruce left to contemplate how on earth he is going to deal with the fall out of his latest scandal.
Clark was struck silent when Perry called him into his office and slid an inconspicuous VIP pass to the latest charity gala being held and hosted by none other than Bruce Wayne.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Clark groaned, his eyes still glued to the pass.
"Afraid not, Kent." Perry said around a cigarette.
"Why me?" Surely, Cat would the best option for this, always up to date on the most recent celebrity drama. Or Lois, even. Now, that's a woman who could hold her own against Bruce Wayne. Jimmy, bless him, would probably crumble under the pressure of it all, but Clark is sure he would still handle it better than himself.
"Good question." Clark tried not to take offence at that, "You've been requested by the man, himself."
Clark felt a little sick.
"Y-you mean to tell me that Bruce Wayne specifically requested me for an interview?" Clark all but squeaked.
Perry frowned, deep lines forming between his brows. "Well, no."
Clark felt the world tilt back into focus. "But he did request the - how did he put it? - the one with the puppy eyes, the big one that looks like he wants to hug everyone." Perry said with a sly smirk. Perry was a lot of things, but a liar, he was not.
Clark felt the world tilt off it's axis once again.
"He what?"
"Oh, I think you heard me, Kent."
Clark sputtered.
"I want something good on that little encounter he had with a certain beacon of justice. Five thousand words on my desk by Monday."
Clark stared back at his boss, blankly.
"Now, scram Kent!"
Clark dawdled back to his desk, dazed. But it didn't take long for Lois to swing her pretty head around the privacy divider. She was dressed smartly, faux snakeskin loafers, pressed black slacks, form fitting black vest sitting snug over a maroon cotton shirt, the exact same shade as her lipstick. Her glossy black hair tumbling over her shoulders in luscious waves. Clark would never tire of looking at her.
She took one look at the expression on his face and frowned.
"You got the Wayne gig, didn't you?"
Clark nodded, dumbly.
"Damn. I wanted that one."
Clark raised a brow at her.
She raised one back, "Not all of us turn into bumbling messes at the first sight of pretty boy Wayne, Kent." Her frown deepened. "Actually, why on Earth would Perry give you that job? You'll be lucky to not choke on your own tongue."
"Gee, thanks Lois." Clark grimaced. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck, rubbed it shyly. "Well, he uh- he requested me, actually. Bruce, I mean."
Lois' jaw went slack.
"Bruce Wayne requested you for an interview?"
"Apparently so."
She clapped a harsh hand on his back and whistled. "Well, good luck Smallville. Don't fuck it up."
Clark dropped his head into his hands and groaned in preemptive sympathy for his future self.