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[1]
Metahumans weren’t allowed in Gotham.
Everyone knew that.
Which was why it was a little odd when Superman crash landed in front of Gotham City Hall.
“Superman,” Batman growled, dropping to the ground by the shattered remains of the sidewalk and looking down at the prone form of Superman. “Why are you here?”
“Batman!” Superman slurred and Batman knew a concussion when he saw one. “I’m such a big fan. I had hoped we’d get to do a cool team-up as our first meeting but I guess this also works.”
Batman sighed as he crouched. It took a full second for Superman to follow his movement with his hazy unfocused eyes. “Why are you here?”
Superman tilted his head and Batman ignored the way the cuteness of it sank into his gut. “Where’s here?”
“Oh for fucks sake,” Batman muttered before stepping down into the crater Superman had made in front of the courthouse.
Except…
His foot never hit the loose shards of pavement.
Instead his back slammed against the far wall as the place he had been standing was crushed by an unfathomably enormous clawed foot.
Which should have been the most pressing issue.
But Superman’s strong huge form was curled around Batman as chunks of building rained down on top of them.
“Are you okay?” Superman asked, voice soft and worried. He pulled away just enough to meet Batman’s gaze and slow heat oozed down Batman’s spine.
“Yeah,” he replied, incapable of doing anything but staring up into the pretty blue concern in Superman’s eyes. “Thanks.”
A goofy grin split Superman’s face. “Anytime. And I’m sorry for bringing the creature here. Lex hit me with kryptonite fumes and I just…”
Superman shook his head slightly and it bumped their noses together.
“Kryptonite?” Batman asked, breath ghosting between them.
“Space poison. Makes me all woozy. I was trying to lead it out to sea but I was too weak to make it there.” Superman answered like he wasn’t telling someone he’d just met exactly how to hurt him.
“Right,” Batman swallowed before glancing at the creature as it wandered towards the river. “You going to do something about that?”
“Oh, yeah.” Superman said, stepping back and dusting cement dust off his shoulders. “It really was an honour to meet you.”
And then Superman took off to the skies and Batman tried not to feel cold without his body pressed close.
“Batman, there are reports of a disturbance on main street.” Alfred’s voice crackled through the comms as Batman stepped into the street to watch Superman shoot laser beams from his eyes to entice the alien creature into the river.
“The disturbance was Superman. He’s out of city limits now. Any update on Nightwing?” Batman growled before shooting a wire into the opposite building to bring himself back up to the seclusion of a nearby rooftop.
“Nightwing is making progress but does not require assistance at this time.” Alfred soothed but the slight distraction in his voice told Batman that the butler had already diverted his attention to Nightwing more fully now he knew Batman was okay.
“Eagle?” Batman growled, shaking his head when Superman let the creature slam him into the water to avoid forcing it backwards into the bridge.
“Yes, Batman,” Alfred said, full attention back on Batman.
“Add kryptonite sensitivity to Superman’s known weaknesses.”
“Right away, sir.”
[2]
Superman’s folder had grown considerably since he’d ushered an alien creature into the river and ‘saved Gotham City’.
What had started as a single page document that merely noted down basic information and potential weaknesses had devolved into something like an obsession.
And Bruce didn’t do obsessions by half.
His office on the top floor of Wayne Enterprises was dim in the late-evening light as Bruce scrolled through the now sixty-five page document.
He paused on a photo of the metahuman.
Though he’d never admit it outloud, it was his favourite.
The photographer wasn’t a professional. Just a reporter who’d somehow managed to snag an interview with the ever elusive Superman.
But the photo itself was breath-taking.
Superman was smiling bashfully into what could only be a phone camera lens. It had a haziness to it that made Bruce’s gut burn.
But those pretty pretty eyes still shone even in the black and white of the newspaper print.
Bruce traced the shape of Superman’s jaw with a finger before dragging it down to the byline printed under the image.
Photocredit: Clark Kent
Brucie Wayne the billionaire playboy hated journalists; they printed all the sordid details of his life and sought to embarrass him.
Batman the secretive detective needed journalists; they published article after article that only reinforced the fact that Brucie Wayne was good for one thing and one thing only and that thing was not midnight vigilantism.
Bruce was terrified of journalists. Every time he saw the inky blocks of texts he remembered Jason’s obituary and how they’d camped outside the Manor for months. He remembered the gossip columnist who dressed as a gravedigger just to crash the funeral and capture photos of Brucie Wayne crying over his dead son.
But Bruce had never hidden from that which scared him. He wore the batsuit to turn his darkest fear into his greatest strength. Which was exactly why he was reading through Superman’s file and waiting for Clark Kent to arrive for his exclusive interview.
“Father?” Dick asked, gently stepping into Bruce’s study. He’d been taking on more responsibility in Wayne Enterprises; it made more sense to present Dick as the day-to-day CEO and Bruce as the PR nightmare owner.
Bruce clicked a button and his screensaver (a rare picture of all of his kids) hid the extensive Superman document. “Yes, Dick?”
“Your seven o’clock is here.” There was an accusation under the tone.
Why hadn’t Bruce told him that he was having an interview?
Why hadn’t Bruce told him that he was inviting a reporter into the very core of Wayne Enterprises?
Why couldn’t he just talk to him?
“Thank you,” Bruce nodded, standing from his desk and turning to pour two glasses of disgustingly expensive whiskey.
It tasted awful but Bruce deserved a little awful sometimes.
“Mr Wayne?” Clark Kent asked, clearly bemused as to why Dick Grayson had personally escorted him up to Bruce’s office only to abandon him in the doorway when Bruce had apparently pissed him off.
Bruce turned with a smug grin and slid the second glass across the desk towards Clark. “Mr Kent, please. Mr Wayne was my father, call me Bruce.”
The blush that splashed over Clark’s cheeks was positively delicious and Bruce had to clench his jaw around the white hot shame that always dragged down his spine when he had to turn on the charm.
Clark tilted his head and, for the briefest of moments, it looked so familiar. “Thank you for agreeing to an interview. I know you’re not exactly fond of talking to the press.”
Bruce let himself drag his eyes over Clark’s hunched shoulders and down the cleverly hidden strength beneath the irreparably disheveled and hideously ill-fitting suit. “I could be fond of you, Mr Kent.”
“Do you always use your good looks and charm to disarm people, Mr Wayne?” Clark asked as he finally crossed the room to sit in the chair in front of Bruce’s desk.
He pulled a ratty notepad out of his inner jacket pocket and glanced up to Bruce with an expectant look.
Bruce just blinked at him.
“Has no one ever asked you that before?” Clark offered when it was clear that Bruce didn’t have an answer for him.
“I don’t do interviews, Mr Kent. So, no.” Bruce dropped into his chair and took a long sip of disgusting whiskey. “No one’s ever asked me if I fuck my way through my problems before.”
Clark’s eyebrows shot into his bouncy curls. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than that to offend me. I’ve heard worse.” Bruce didn’t add that he told himself much worse but, when Clark offered him a sympathetic smile, he thought Clark might have heard him anyway.
“Why did you agree to an interview? It’s been years since–”
“Since I stopped taking interviews?” Bruce cocked an eyebrow at Clark as he let an awkward silence flourish for a few moments. “You can mention him. I’m a big boy, I can talk about my dead son.”
“Do you know who was responsible for Jason Todd’s murder?” Clark asked and Bruce had to breathe through the sudden pressure behind his solar plexus. The fingers on Clark’s notebook flexed, worried, but Clark didn’t rescind his question as Bruce drained the rest of his glass.
The glass scraped against the wood grain; it took every inch of Bruce’s will power to push aside the image of his son’s mangled body.
“The building collapsed. There’s no evidence my son was murdered.” It was technically the truth. There was no proof, Bruce had made sure of that. But it felt enough like a lie that it coated his tongue in grief all over again.
“You don’t believe that,” Clark pushed gently. “There were reports of the Joker–”
“Why are you asking me this, Mr Kent?” Bruce snagged the second glass off the table and took a sip. “Surely it’s better practice to hound the police for details of crimes and not grieving family members.”
“The police are not being forthcoming,” Clark admitted, big blue eyes burning into Bruce’s.
There was something under Clark’s voice. The suggestion of an implication of an assumption.
“Why are you asking me this, Mr Kent?” Bruce repeated, ice clinking as he swirled his glass. “I already told you. I’m a big boy, ask the question you actually want to ask.”
Clark sighed.
And then he lent forwards.
Pretty blue eyes shining so brightly.
“Mr Wayne,” he said, voice a little lower. A little sterner. A little more familiar. “Did you kill your son?”
The realisation that had been careening towards him slipped away.
Glass, whiskey, and ice hit the carpet.
For one terrifying moment, he didn’t know the answer.
It was his fault.
He hadn’t been able to save his son.
Was failure the same as culpability?
Jason’s blood had coated his hands, did it matter whether he’d spilt it in the first place?
He’d changed his clothes.
Undressed Robin and dressed Jason.
“No,” Bruce rasped. “I–” He took a sharp breath. “I did not kill my son, Mr Kent. But…”
“But?” Clark asked, eyes resting square in the centre of Bruce’s chest like he could see the core of him and was passing judgement.
Bruce swallowed, eyes flicking to his screensaver.
Jason’s face was hidden, buried in a blanket as he slept on a couch.
It had been after Bruce had been injured fighting Bane.
Alfred hadn’t been sure if he’d pull through so he’d send messages to all of Bruce’s many wards in case they needed to say goodbye.
But Bruce had woken up.
And Jason had already been gone.
The picture was the only proof he had that his son was even still alive.
“It was my fault,” Bruce said, fully aware that he was speaking on the record. “We’d fought that morning. That’s why he was in that building… to prove something to me. My son died hating me and he was right to.”
The words hung in the air for a long horrific moment.
And then Clark carefully slid his notebook onto the desk and pushed himself to standing.
“Quite the scoop,” Bruce tried to joke but his breath caught and it came out too gutted to be anything other than broken.
Clark rounded the desk and grabbed Bruce.
He didn’t even brace for the punch he was convinced was coming. It was a punch he more than deserved.
But then huge strong hands hauled him to his feet.
Clark carefully tucked Bruce under his chin and hugged him tightly.
“I’m sure he would forgive you,” Clark muttered, one hand gently stroking Bruce’s hair. “He wouldn’t want you to torture yourself.”
Bruce laughed and it sounded like a sob. “Some things don’t deserve forgiveness.”
Clark pulled back just enough to force Bruce to meet his eyes as he peered down at Bruce from over the top of his glasses. “You deserve forgiveness.”
Bright blue eyes full of concern rested on Bruce’s face.
Those eyes.
They burned.
And they were pretty.
So pretty.
And so familiar.
“Shit,” Bruce muttered as he finally realised he was staring up at Superman.
Now he’d made the connection, it was obvious.
Painfully obvious.
But then Clark’s glasses covered his eyes as he stepped backwards out of Bruce’s space and Bruce could almost convince himself that he’d been imagining the similarities.
“Apologies, Mr Wayne,” Clark said gently. “I shouldn’t have… I overstepped.”
“Forgiven,” Bruce smiled, latching onto the adrenaline of his discovery to mask the grief that threatened to suffocate him all over again. “Feel free to manhandle me whenever you like, Mr Kent.”
Clark’s ears turned pink. “There you go again. Hiding behind that charisma again.”
“You can call it raw sex appeal, Mr Kent. Besides, I only bite if you ask nicely.” Bruce teased; they both ignored the shake to his hand as he snagged the spilled glass from the floor.
“What makes you think I’d be nice about it?” Clark muttered as he shook his head and it was Bruce’s turn to blush. “I’m sorry. Truly. I received information from a source and it was, clearly, false.”
“Someone told you I murdered my son?” He made a mental note to hack into Clark’s emails later.
Clark tossed him a careful look. “Do you want me to get Mr Grayson? I don’t want to leave you if you’re upset about–”
“Do not ask Dick about Jason,” Bruce barked, urgent and firm. “I’ll let you write whatever you want about me but leave my son out of this.”
Clark picked his notebook up and watched Bruce for a long moment. “You’d let me write whatever I wanted if I left your son out of my story?”
“Do you really think all those stories about me are true?” Bruce chuckled. “Any press is good press, Mr Kent.”
With one final soft look, Clark tapped his notebook on the desk and headed towards the door. “You think if people hate you for lies, it will sting less than them hating you for the truth.” He hesitated but didn’t turn around. “Is it really so hard to believe that they might love you if you just let them know you?”
When Bruce didn’t answer, Clark just wandered into the corridor.
His footsteps faded until Bruce heard him step into the elevator.
“God damn bleeding heart,” he muttered when he was fairly sure that even Superman’s super-hearing couldn’t hear him.
He spent the rest of the evening researching Clark Kent.
By the time the sun rose in the sky, he had everything from the blood type of his adoptive parents to the dorky middle school photo only available on the facebook page of an MLM representative from Wichita.
Clark’s article on Jason’s death never materialised and Bruce tried not to be disappointed; he’d been rather looking forward to seeing if Clark would describe him as handsome.
[3]
Bruce was sitting in the Batcave combing through the files he’d pulled off Clark Kent’s Daily Planet email address.
So far he’d managed to track Clark’s source back to a defunct LexCorp IP address. But the woman who ran it had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth and so Bruce was staring at an exceptionally irritating dead end.
He’d just resigned himself to an evening of jerking off in the shower and going to bed when a phone lit up on the main workdesk in the Batcave.
His chair clattered to the ground as he launched himself across the room to grab the phone that the Robins had dubbed the ‘Someone is dying’ phone.
“Hello?” Bruce barked; red splashed across the open spaces of the Batcave as he pushed the panic button. “What’s wrong?”
“I… your son needs help,” an achingly familiar voice said through the weak signal. “I can’t get any information out of him but he’s asking for you.”
“Which son is it and what happened?” Bruce growled, crossing the room to send an urgent check-in demand to everyone on patrol.
There was some kerfuffle down the line and Bruce gripped the plastic phone hard enough for it to creak.
Two ‘all clear’ pings signaled within seconds of each other.
Dick and Tim were all safe.
Bruce sent Damian another text and tracked his comms line.
“I… he won’t give me his name,” the voice on the line tried. “He won’t let me take him to hospital but he’s asking for you.”
The person sounded desperate.
And scared.
Bruce hacked into the street cams near Damian’s last known location and he flicked through them quickly.
Relief flooded his system when he saw the shadow of Damian lurking on a rooftop by the docks.
He watched in real time as Damian checked his phone and turned to look at the CCTV camera that Bruce was using.
The ‘all clear’ ping came through as Damian nodded up at the camera.
But if everyone was okay then…
“Who is it that you have exactly?” Bruce asked, turning his full attention to the muffled commotion that echoed down the phone line.
“He’s–”
“Dad!” A voice screamed, terrified. “Don’t let him hurt me again! I can’t–”
The words dissolved into sobs and wretched heaves of air as Bruce shot upright. “Where are you?”
“I can get to you faster,” the voice said, low and soft.
“I can be there in less than ten if you’re still in Gotham.”
“I can do it in five… seconds.”
And Bruce finally made the connection.
“Superman?”
“Yes,” Clark said and he sounded almost relieved that he’d been discovered.
“I’m sending you coordinates. Get here. Now.” Bruce growled.
He hung up and sent the coordinates to the batcave as quickly as he could after confirming the line wasn’t compromised.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred asked, carefully switching the panic alarm off.
Bruce’s voice was shaking when he dropped the phone to the desktop and started the protocol to open the bay doors. “Jason’s hurt.”
“I’ll prepare the medical bay, sir.”
Bruce heard them before he saw them.
Or he heard him.
Jason was screaming.
Not shouting.
Or yelling.
He was screaming like he was going to die and Bruce felt his grief take hold all over again.
“Mr Wayne?” Clark whispered as he touched down. Jason was cradled in his arms, red mask still secure on his face despite the thin coating of acrid chemicals tinting it a grimy orange.
With gentle hands, Bruce cupped his son’s face and tried to shush him as he found the latch on the side of his helmet. “It’s okay. We’re going to help.”
A bloody hand shot out and Jason grabbed the fabric by Bruce’s throat. “Don’t let him kill me again, I can’t go back. I can’t. Dad, please. Please.”
“It was fear toxin,” Clark said as Alfred wheeled a gurney over for Clark to lay Jason down. “He took a direct hit.”
Bruce finally fumbled Jason’s mask off and he heard Clark’s soft gasp. “Jason Todd?”
“Jason, look at me.” Bruce tried, his own eyes welling up with tears at the sight of Jason’s bloodshot terrified eyes. “I’ve got you, okay? I won’t let him hurt you again.”
“Is he bleeding?” Alfred asked, hands unbuckling the bulletproof vest and searching for the source of blood that Jason had smeared across Bruce’s face.
Clark shook his head, clearly doing better at processing what was happening than Bruce was. “Some of Scarecrow’s men got in his way.”
“Did they..?” Alfred asked, trailing off when Clark gave him a grim look.
Jason’s screaming had settled into frantic mumbled pleas and fast gasped breaths.
“Why were you in Gotham?” Bruce asked, glancing up at Clark with what he could only assume was a manic look.
“We were in Metropolis. They were working with LexCorp.” Clark’s eyes flicked across Bruce’s face before looking down at Jason’s frantically rasped gasps. “I thought you said he was dead.”
Alfred vanished back into the medical unit and Bruce was sure he was supposed to be doing something other than cradling his son’s head as he whispered hoarse apologies.
“He was,” Alfred said, returning with a handful of vials and a syringe. “Hold him down.”
Bruce knew that Alfred wasn’t talking to him.
Thankfully, Clark just carefully grabbed Jason’s shoulders and stilled his thrashing.
“Dad, please. Please.” Jason was rapidly careening towards passing out but Bruce couldn’t do anything but stroke his hair and choke through his own panicked breaths. “Please, Dad. I’ll be better. I promise I’ll be better. Just don’t let him hurt me.”
Alfred sunk the needle into the crook of Jason’s vein and the hand at Bruce’s throat turned violent.
“This is your fault, Bruce,” Jason spat, angry and terrified.
Clark’s head snapped up to look at Bruce. “No.”
“You did this,” Jason choked, hand tightening as Bruce felt his pulse rush in his ears. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. I– Dad. I– Dad, I’m… I don’t want to die. I don’t… I’m scared, Dad. I’m scared and you’re not here. I thought you’d come for me. I thought you’d save me.” Jason’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as the antidote hit his brain.
The room fell silent as Jason’s grasp on consciousness finally failed.
The hand at Bruce’s throat slithered away and Bruce pulled in a ragged breath.
“Bruce?” Clark whispered, eyes wide.
Bruce took a shaky step backwards.
“Master Wayne,” Alfred tried.
“He won’t want to see me when he wakes up.” Bruce aimed his words at the vague middle distance as his vision tunneled. “I–”
A strong hand snapped to his waist right as the world tilted on its axis.
Someone tried to talk to him but Bruce couldn’t think past the sight of Jason unmoving in front of him.
“I need to… they’ll know he’s… he needs to be changed.” Bruce heard himself mutter, desperate. “They can’t know he’s Robin.”
There was a sharp pain in his elbow and the world went agonizingly black.
He didn’t scream.
He deserved this pain.
What he didn’t deserve was the gentle hand buried in his hair as he slowly blinked himself awake.
“You absorbed too much of the toxin when you touched Jason,” Clark said quietly. “He’s okay. He… he had to go and finish something–”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Bruce replied, trying to push himself to sitting and huffing when Clark gently pushed him back to horizontal. “I know Jason well enough to know that he wouldn’t stay. I also know he probably left a message for me.”
Judging by the way Clark avoided his gaze, Bruce was absolutely right.
“Either you can tell me or I can ask Alfred, your call?”
Clark didn’t move his hand from Bruce’s chest and Bruce was irrationally relieved. “He said you were a liar.”
“About what?” Bruce asked softly, head still spinning from the contact high from hell.
Clark ran his fingers through Bruce’s hair carefully. “He said you don’t actually care about anyone. That you use people and then you discard them. That’s why he didn’t stay, he didn’t want a guilt trip about doing what he had to in order to survive when you couldn’t do what you needed to do to keep him safe.”
Bruce clenched his jaw and Clark dragged his fingers along the sharp edge of his cheek bone.
“I told you it was my fault, don’t act so surprised.” Bruce watched Clark remember their conversation and realised that Bruce knew who he was.
“What gave it away?”
“You should be more careful with your glasses. I’m guessing they have some form of hypnotic tech to make your face look differently when you wear them?” Bruce said, finally mustering the courage to wave Clark’s hands away and drag himself to sit on the edge of the cot. “Why are you still here anyway? Fear toxin’s not deadly if you get the antidote soon enough.”
Clark watched Bruce for a long moment. Those pretty pretty eyes dragged over his face before resting on his neck. “Jason could have killed you.” Clark slowly lifted his hand, giving Bruce plenty of time to wave him off again. When Bruce just clenched his jaw, Clark trailed a thumb over the bruises he knew were already forming around this throat. Bruises that the gossip columns would call hickeys come the morning. “He could have killed you and you were going to let him.”
“Why are you acting surprised?” Bruce offered, eyes flicking between Clark’s.
“Why do you think you deserve pain?” Clark breathed, thumb gently rubbing a soothing line over his jugular. “When Jason was scared, he asked for you. He wanted his Dad.”
“How did you know to ring me?” Bruce asked instead of thinking about Jason, terrified, screaming for his Dad.
Clark smiled, soft and sad. “I just went to his contacts and found the one labelled ‘Dad’.”
The next breath Bruce dragged in shuddered through him. “Why did you stay?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Clark whispered, thumb dragging up to rest under the curve of Bruce’s lower lip.
“I’m sorry that it was me.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse. “I know you respected Batman. I’m sorry I ruined him for you.”
Clark just smiled at him, eyes shiny and so fucking pretty. “I’m glad it’s you. You care about people. How could I not respect that?”
“I–” Bruce started, about to argue because it was all he’d ever learnt to do.
“Respectfully, Bruce. Stop telling me what to feel. I know how I feel and you can’t logic me out of it.” Clark lent forward, eyes slipping to rest on Bruce’s mouth.
“How do you feel?” Bruce whispered.
Clark didn’t answer him.
He just gently captured Bruce’s lips and maybe that was answer enough.
It took a lot for Bruce to ignore the urge to run.
The panic that still lingered, even now.
But then Clark slowly licked into his mouth and Bruce couldn’t do anything but slide his hands up the impressive swell of Clark’s chest and taste something sweeter than words pushed between their tongues.
Clark pulled away gently, pausing only to press a last chaste kiss against Bruce’s lips. “A phone’s ringing in the other room,” he whispered. “I want to ignore it but–”
“I should see if everyone’s okay,” Bruce said, already sliding away from Clark to stumble into the main space of the Batcave to answer the phone.
Clark drifted after him, extending a hand to help guide Bruce’s shaky walk.
“What happened?” Bruce answered, already cycling back through the security cameras until he found Damian again.
“There’s a shipment of paper leaving the dock right now,” Damian whispered, eyes trained on something in the distance.
Bruce zoomed in on the shipment visible in the CCTV feed. “Well… that’s interesting paper.”
Hundreds of exotic plants were being unloaded into a van labelled LexCorp.
Clark pressed one last kiss to the fabric covered swell of Bruce’s shoulder before he flew out of the cargo door and disappeared into the night sky.
“Can you trace the purchase?” Damian asked, already sending Bruce a litany of photographs and documents to facilitate the investigation.
“You mean can I find the paper’s trail?” Bruce smirked, already opening the shipping records and locating the relevant information.
“Don’t try to make jokes, it’s not one of your skills.” The line went dead and Bruce dropped himself into the desk chair as his algorithm scoured industrial databases.
He rested a hand on his shoulder, fingers tracing the warm echo of Clark’s lips.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred noted, returning to the batcave with a pot of tea and a sympathetic look. “Master Todd had to leave. I thought Master Kent might have remained a little longer though?”
Bruce accepted a steaming mug from Alfred with a grateful wince. “He’s too trusting. That or he’s playing a game I can’t quite understand.”
With a few quick clicks, he loaded up the file he kept on Superman (and, by extension, Clark Kent).
“Perhaps he is simply being honest, sir.” Alfred noted quietly. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
Bruce chewed his cheek for a moment before adding a simple ‘potential for emotional manipulation’ to the end of Clark’s file. “Did Jason leave a message for me?”
Alfred hesitated, eyes unfocused as he seemed to decide something. “Ah… no, sir. He… he wasn’t himself.” The lie hung in the air uncomfortably before Alfred sighed softly. “He was scared, Bruce. Children often lash out at their parents when they’re scared.”
“Scared doesn’t mean wrong.”
The database pinged and the result window popped up over the picture of Superman.
“Is that..?” Alfred asked, leaning forward to read the information quickly.
“Why the fuck is Poison Ivy sending Lex Luthor plants?”
[4]
Pamela was going to kill him.
Which wouldn’t necessarily be a deviation from their usual interactions if it wasn’t for the fact that he wasn’t talking about Poison Ivy.
No, Pamela Isley was going to kill Bruce with her bare hands.
“What do you mean Pamela and Harleen are together?” Tim asked, eyeing Bruce like he’d lost his mind. “Actually, why do you care?”
Bruce jabbed a finger at the screen harder than he intended. The last time he’d slept had long become a distant memory and he was losing his ability to judge distance apparently. “It closes the loop!”
“You need to go to bed,” Dick murmured, glancing up from his phone to pin Bruce with a bemused look.
“Poison Ivy sent Lex plants. Scarecrow was working in Metropolis.” Bruce threw his hands in the air. “Why is Lex collecting Arkham patients like it’s going out of fashion?”
“I agree it’s troubling,” Tim offered gently. “But criminals working together is not unheard of.”
Dick tossed his phone on the desk with a huffed shrug. “Sure, but Pamela teaming up with a billionaire is. What did Damian say? This is technically his case.”
Bruce pouted and turned back to the shipping reports.
“Bruce?” Tim pushed, shooting Dick a sly glance.
“I haven’t told him yet,” Bruce admitted quietly.
Dick blinked. “What do you mean you haven’t told Damian yet? He told me he was following a lead.”
“I might have told him to look into Bane,” Bruce winced.
“I thought Bane was lying low after… oh.” Tim glanced at the ceiling for a painful moment. “Damian tracked Bane down and that’s how you figured out about Pamela and Harleen?”
“He was ring shopping with Pamela… Damian thought they were going to rob the place.” Bruce winced at the memory. “He tried to stop them but they were just looking for engagement rings. Now Harleen knows that Pamela was going to propose and the surprise is ruined.”
“Oh, she’s going to kill you.” Dick’s phone beeped and he grabbed it to fire back a quick reply. “But why wouldn’t you tell Damian about the Poison Ivy link to Lex?”
Bruce was getting a headache and he was half convinced his sons were trying to bore him to death.
“Dad?” Tim asked, curiosity wandering dangerously close to concern.
“It’s too dangerous,” Bruce said, clenching his fist to fight the tremor that ran through his hand; he watched Dick clock the movement. “I can’t have another one of you hurt because of this.”
“Another one of us?” Dick asked, eyes still following Bruce’s hand.
Sleep deprived and anxious, Bruce knew he couldn’t cover the slip with his usual gruff dismissal.
“It was Jason, wasn’t it?” Tim asked instead of making Bruce admit to it.
Dick raised an eyebrow. “How’d you figure that?”
“If it was someone else we’d have heard about it,” Tim explained, a little proud smile grew on his lips when Dick looked impressed. “That and Dad wouldn’t be this cagey about anyone else.”
“That’s why you care if Pamela and Harleen are together,” Dick realised, nodding as he worked through his own line of logic. “You wanted to just go to Pamela and ask her why she was working with Lex but now you’ve burned that bridge.”
“She was doing so well,” Bruce muttered, jaw clenched and eyes staring into the middle distance. “Why would she give up all her progress to work with Lex Luthor of all people?”
“She’s ill, Bruce.” Tim sounded gutted and Bruce couldn’t look at him. “Set backs are normal.”
“I know that!” Bruce barked, growl curling the words. “You don’t think I know that?”
“Am I interrupting?” Clark asked, Superman cape still settling from his sudden arrival.
Bruce turned, anger and irritation easier to find than fear. “What the fuck do you want? I told you not to come to Gotham without–”
“I invited him.” Dick nodded to Tim and the pair turned to leave. “Thanks for coming, Superman.”
Clark waved at them awkwardly and Bruce felt sick affection curl in his gut.
“He needs to sleep,” Tim added as they pulled open the door that led back to the Manor proper. “And a shower but I’m sure you could already smell that.”
The door slammed shut, echoing between them.
Silence stretched as Clark looked everywhere but at Bruce.
“Say it,” Bruce finally snapped.
Clark turned, surprise lacing his voice as Bruce stood in front of his main computer system. “You’ve been busy.”
A strong hand gestured at the wall of articles and images of Gotham’s not-so-finest plastered across the screen.
“I’m always busy,” Batman growled.
It was irritating how good Clark looked.
Pretty blue eyes full of care.
Single curl draped artfully across Clark’s forehead.
The strong broad planes of his chest.
God, Bruce wanted to kiss him.
“Is this because of Ja–the Scarecrow incident?” Clark asked gently. He stepped forwards, edging closer to Bruce slowly. “Because I can help. It happened in Metropolis and I’ve been asking around.”
“You haven’t found anything though.” Bruce only knew because he hadn’t found much of anything either.
Clark shrugged; it was a sweet gesture and Bruce felt his hackles rise at Clark’s attempt at disarming him. “Lex is good at subterfuge. We’ll figure it out.”
“We?”
For one long brutal moment, Clark looked upset.
But then he just chuckled and shook his head slightly. “Why do you insist on pretending you work alone?”
“I do,” Bruce snarled, tired bones aching with the need to argue when all he wanted to do was let Clark take care of him.
Clark just raised a judgemental eyebrow at him. “You have an army battalion's worth of associates, assistants, and employees. You very much do not work alone.”
It was probably supposed to be reassuring.
But all Bruce could think of was every time he’d had to sew his sons’ wounds closed. Every broken bone and screamed argument.
You’re collecting people and you break them.
“Fuck you,” Bruce spat, voice wobbling dangerously close to a vitriol so dark he’d never be able to scrub it clean.
The words hit Clark like a physical strike; he reared back, eyes wide. “What?”
“You think I don’t know that I’m not doing enough,” Bruce growled, advancing on Clark and feeling sick when Clark took a hasty step back. “I drop people off at Arkham and it never helps. They’re never cured. I’m not actually helping them.” Bruce’s voice broke as Clark’s back hit the wall; he jabbed a finger into Clark’s chest with each point and Clark flinched every time. “Then there’s my sons. How many more are going to get hurt because I can’t… I can’t save them, Clark.” Bruce felt his breathing grow ragged. “How many of them are going to die because I’m not enough?”
“When was the last time you slept?” Clark asked instead of addressing any of Bruce’s manic monologue.
Bruce panted as he tried to follow Clark’s subject change. “I… It’s not important.”
“You don’t remember.” Clark sounded so sad as he gently cupped Bruce’s jaw. “How can you save anyone if you can’t even take care of yourself, Bruce?”
Bruce snarled, lips curled back and teeth exposed. “You think you’re better than me but you’re not.”
Pretty blue eyes narrowed and Bruce felt a sick sort of satisfaction when Clark smirked down at him a little meanly. “I had a shower today. That’s more than I can say about you.”
“Fuck you,” Bruce spat, face so close he could see the deep cobalt specks in the icy brilliance of Bruce’s eyes. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh really?” Clark whispered, breath ghosting over Bruce’s lips. “So you don’t want to kiss me right now?”
Their teeth clacked together almost painfully and Bruce didn’t know who moved first.
Huge strong hands slid around Bruce’s waist and pulled him impossibly close to the broad expanse of Clark’s strong chest.
Bruce just tangled his fingers in Clark’s hair and sunk his teeth into Clark’s lower lip. If it had been anyone else, he would have drawn blood but Clark just moaned, loud and filthy.
“Shower?” Clark managed to gasp between aggressive kisses and sharp canines.
Bruce snarled, ducking slightly to seal his mouth over Clark’s jugular.
“Bruce,” Clark moaned, hands sliding to cup Bruce’s ass and lift him.
Waving a hand in the general direction of the shower, Bruce wrapped his legs around Clark’s waist. Clark couldn’t bruise but Bruce was desperately trying to leave a deep mark high on his throat regardless.
There was a sudden gust of wind around them both and Clark touched down in the wetroom next to the batcave entrance.
“I can take a shower by myself, Clark,” Bruce snarled despite immediately licking back into Clark’s mouth and making no move to stop Clark from pinning him to the wall.
They had to break apart when Clark dragged Bruce’s shirt up and over his head. “Can you?” Clark purred, holding Bruce up with one hand as he pulled his own suit down with the other. “Or do you need someone to do it for you?”
Bruce felt his cock twitch as Clark pressed an open mouthed kiss to Bruce’s clavicle. “Then hurry up and make me.”
Clark put Bruce down just to drop to his knees and unbutton Bruce’s pants. His nose pressed into the hinge of Bruce’s hip as the fabric dragged over the swell of his thighs. There should have been something gross about how Clark inhaled deeply, like he was trying to memorise Bruce’s scent in case he never let Clark do this again. But Bruce’s cock just leaked precum against his stomach when Clark’s pretty pretty eyes looked up at him.
He stepped out of the pants round his ankles and dragged Clark up to seal their lips together again.
It took Clark a couple of fumbled tries to find the tap as Bruce helped him out of the bottom of his costume.
“Jesus,” Bruce muttered when Clark’s hard cock bobbed free. “Do you have hypnopants to hide this too?”
Clark’s entire face and chest flushed red. “I don’t even know how that would work.”
Bruce grinned, wicked and a little evil, as Clark turned the water on.
But then Bruce was pushed back against the cool tiles as Clark bullied his tongue into Bruce’s mouth like it belonged there.
The movement dragged their cocks together and Bruce greedily drank the filthy moan that tore out of Clark’s throat as cool water crashed around them.
“Bruce,” Clark gasped, crunching the tiles under his hand as his hips twitched. The water ran over Clark’s chest and Bruce couldn’t help rolling one of Clark’s slick nipples between his fingers. “Please, Bruce.”
“I thought you wanted me clean,” Bruce growled, pleased when Clark grabbed his ass and squeezed.
Clark cupped Bruce’s cheek so sweetly that Bruce thought he might die from the gentle caress when Clark ran a thumb over the stubble of Bruce’s jaw. “I want you filthy.”
Bruce’s cock oozed precum over Clark’s thigh as he felt his gut clench at the thought.
“Then get me filthy,” Bruce moaned, hands tangling in Clark’s hair as Clark kissed his way down the scared expanse of Bruce’s chest.
Clark dragged his teeth across the worst of the silver lines that littered Bruce’s skin until his knees splashed into the watertray. “Let me take care of you, Bruce.”
And who was Bruce to deny Clark?
Clark swallowed down Bruce’s cock like he was made for it. Slick pink lips stretched and pretty pretty eyes shining up at Bruce.
“Fuck,” Bruce moaned, sagging back against the wall as Clark buried his nose in the short black curls at the base of Bruce’s cock.
Water dripped off Clark’s lashline as the shower rained down over them both. Bruce hoped it wouldn’t wash away the feeling of Clark against his skin.
Clark bobbed his head with an achingly delicious slowness; like he was memorising every vein along Bruce’s shaft.
The pressure building was divine and Bruce could see Clark’s own cock, hot and leaking between his huge thighs, throbbing with neglect.
Bruce grasped blindly behind himself and fumbled with a nondescript black box nestled amongst the shampoos and shower gel.
Clark pulled off with a sinful pop and gazed up at Bruce with unabashed concern. “You okay?”
Knocking three violently expensive haircare products off the shelf, he pulled free what he had been searching for. “Here.” He tossed it down to Clark as he hooked a thigh over the huge swell of Clark’s shoulder.
Clark caught it easily; he read the label before shooting a look up at Bruce. “You sure?” If Clark sounded worried, it was overshadowed by the fact the blue in his eyes had been almost completely covered with the black want of his blown pupils.
That and the thick spurt of precum that shot out of his twitching cock and swirled down the drain with the rush of the shower.
“I need you to fuck me, Clark,” Bruce tried to moan seductively but he knew he sounded far too deserate to hide the thick urgent desire in his throat. “Please?”
The smile that blossomed across Clark’s lips was almost proud. “Well since you asked so nicely…”
Bruce yanked Clark’s hair and leant over him as Clark’s mouth dropped open in a desperate moan. “You won’t like me when I beg, Clark.”
Then Bruce spat directly in Clark’s mouth.
Clark held his mouth open, letting Bruce slide slowly over his tongue and back into his throat before swallowing. “I think I’d like whatever you wanted to do, Bruce.”
“What do you want?” Bruce asked.
Clark just grinned up at him again. “You.”
Bruce was going to say something impossible sexy.
Or maybe it would have been a little bratty.
Or maybe he’d just tell Clark that he loved him.
Either way, the words turned into an embarrassingly needy moan when Clark suckled the bundle of nerves at the head of Bruce’s cock sweetly.
Then the lid on the container that Bruce had tossed him popped open and Clark coated his fingers with lube.
Bruce’s thigh flexed over Clark’s shoulder and Clark just turned to press a sweet kiss to the short parallel lines of silver at his inner thigh. “Relax, Bruce. I meant what I said. Let me take care of you.”
Then Clark sunk back down on Bruce’s cock and he pressed a thick finger slowly inside Bruce.
“Fuck,” Bruce gasped, head thrown back and hips rocking between the delicious warmth of Clark’s throat and the thick pleasure of his finger. “Clark.”
He was grateful for the cool water that rained down around him; it helped stop the fire in his blood from consuming him entirely.
Clark carefully worked a second finger in along the first.
“So good,” Bruce babbled, hands flexing in Clark’s wet curls as he fucked deeper into Clark’s mouth. “So fucking good. You’re just so–”
Then Clark curled his fingers and Bruce’s toes curled as he felt precum spurt from his cock.
Clark just swallowed it all down, moaning around Bruce’s cock as his own desire throbbed between his legs.
“It’s enough,” Bruce gasped, stars twinkling at the edge of his vision. “I’m ready. I can take you. Please.”
Clark let Bruce slide out of his mouth, briefly turning to suck a deep bruise into Bruce’s thigh. His fingers kept fucking him slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bruce.”
“I want you too,” Bruce heard himself say immediately.
Clark shook his head and pressed a chaste kiss to Bruce’s gut. “You deserve care, Bruce. Let me care. Let me care for you.”
His fingers were still slowly working him and it was hard for Bruce to finish his thoughts.
“Like that,” Clark soothed, free hand wrapping around Bruce’s cock as he rubbed tight circles under the head of Bruce’s cock. “You’re doing so well… letting me take care of you. So perfect, Bruce.”
Bruce’s thighs trembled as Clark slid a third finger in next to the other two.
“Clark, please,” Bruce moaned, abs tensing as pleasure began to crest. “I’m ready.”
The fingers inside of him slid free and Bruce hiccupped on sob.
He didn’t have long to mourn the loss when Clark surged up to kiss him. It was more gentle than Bruce had ever allowed himself to be kissed. It threatened to spill the love he was trying to keep locked behind his ribcage.
“I need you to promise me that if it hurts you’ll tell me,” Clark whispered, lips dragging against Bruce’s like he couldn’t bear to be further apart than necessary.
Bruce nodded as the water that ran between them hid the tears on his cheeks.
But Clark just kissed his cheeks sweetly. “Promise me, Bruce. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Bruce whispered, gazing up into Clark’s eyes and for a long moment he wanted to drown in the oceans he found there. “Now fuck me.”
Clark lifted Bruce back up effortlessly, huge hands cupping the top of his thighs until Bruce wrapped his legs fully around Clark’s waist.
It was damning that Bruce felt like he belonged here, wrapped around Clark and staring up into those pretty eyes.
A hand slid slowly down the curve of Bruce’s spine until Clark slid a finger back inside Bruce.
His eyes unfocused at the sensation of being filled again. It wasn’t enough but it poured fire on the gasoline pumping through his veins.
“Jesus, Bruce,” Clark whispered, sweetly. “You look so pretty when you moan like that.”
Bruce opened his mouth to say something sarcastic but then Clark pressed the head of his cock against Bruce’s entrance and he choked on the words.
“You’re just trying to shut me up,” Bruce moaned once his brain had rearranged itself to nestle around the knowledge that Clark could be a little mean when he wanted to be. “It’s a sentiment I’m used to.”
Clark’s cock pushed inside and Bruce moaned Clark’s name.
“Trust me,” Clark purred, eyelashes fluttering as he felt Bruce clenching around him. “I want to hear you all the time. I just don’t want to hear you talking bad about yourself. I wish you could see what I see.”
The mixture of Clark’s praise with the delicious burn of Clark carving a space in his soul was too much.
His hands flexed in Clark’s hair as he let himself enjoy the feeling of being made whole.
But then, cruelly, Clark started to pull out when Bruce knew he was nowhere near fully seated.
“Clark?” Bruce whimpered, eyes refocusing on a very devastated Clark.
The hand not guiding his cock cupped Bruce’s jaw gently. “I told you to say if it hurt.”
“It doesn’t,” Bruce said; Clark’s eyes dropped to Bruce’s chest before he met his eyes with a confused head tilt. “I think for the first time, maybe ever, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Oh,” Clark breathed. “Oh, Bruce.”
Bruce just kissed him.
It was the only thing he could think of doing besides telling Clark that he never wanted to be anywhere other than wrapped around his cock.
Clark licked into his mouth like he could drag all of Bruce's bad memories out and cleanse his soul more fully than the water still sloughing off their shoulders ever could.
He pushed in slowly, drawing back when he felt Bruce’s breath hitch too much before sliding back in.
When Bruce’s ass finally settled flush with Clark’s hips, he could practically feel Clark in his throat.
“Clark, move,” Bruce whispered, hands trailing down to follow the rivulets of water that fell down Clark’s back. “Feels good. Feels so good.”
Clark just ran brushed a stray lock of wet hair from Bruce’s forehead and met his eyes. “You have no idea how incredible you feel.”
And then Clark pulled almost all the way out and drove back home as he sealed their mouths together again.
The pace he set was brutal and perfect.
Just the right side of rough for Bruce to bear the gentle care that Clark was pouring into his mouth.
The pressure that had been building since before they’d stepped food into the shower was finally starting to bubble over when Clark wound a hand between them and started jerking Bruce off in time with his thrusts.
“I can’t last,” Bruce gasped, devastated by the thought of this ending and craving the thick pleasure that was calling to him like a siren call.
Clark just pressed their foreheads together as he watched Bruce’s precum wash away with the water. “Then let me see you fall apart. I can put you back together again.”
Bruce’s gut clenched, control that he’d never been able to relinquish finally starting to slither free with each drag of Clark’s cock against his prostate. “Clark, please.’
“I have you, Bruce. I have you.”
When Bruce came, he felt Clark tumble after him. Filling him up and marking the every core of him.
It felt like love.
Clark’s legs buckled and it felt right for Bruce to be falling as his desire pulsed between them.
The adrenaline and urgent want of earlier ran out of him with his orgasm and washed down the drain to leave only exhausted satisfaction and something much sweeter.
Strong hands carefully lifted him as Clark slipped free.
Bruce just buried his face in Clark’s neck and pressed sleepy open mouth kisses to Clark’s jugular.
“You okay?” Clark muttered as he ran his hands over Bruce, carefully washing any sweat or cum away.
“Stay?” Bruce whispered, too quiet for any human to ever hear.
But Clark just pressed a smile into his temple and turned the water off as he stood, Bruce still wrapped around him. “For as long as you’ll let me.”
Wrapped in a fluffy towel, Clark carried Bruce through the suspiciously empty batcave and to the emergency bedroom that Alfred had built for when Bruce got so into a case that he refused to even go up to the Manor to sleep.
Bruce was so close to sleep, drifting on the edge of bliss, when Clark carefully pressed him into the mattress.
It was sweet how Clark pillowed his head on Bruce’s chest, ear pressed over his heart.
“Sleep, I’ll listen in case anyone needs you,” Clark soothed.
And that was all it took for Bruce to drift off to sleep.
When he woke a few hours later, the easy comfort had curled to thick anxiety.
What was he doing?
There was no way that Clark– that Superman– wanted to deal with the fucked up mess that was Bruce’s mind.
He was going to ruin it.
And Clark didn’t deserve that.
He didn’t deserve to have to let Bruce down gently.
Hell, maybe he had just fucked him to get him to go to sleep or take a fucking shower.
Clark stirred and Bruce was sure his heartbeat was doing something vaguely worrying.
He carefully extracted himself from underneath Clark, taking a selfish moment to press a kiss to the slightly frizzy curl still resting on Clark’s forehead before slipping out of the door and pulling on a spare pair of sweatpants.
“Master Wayne?” Alfred asked from the central computer system. “I was not expecting you to be awake until later.”
Alfred had seen Bruce in a plethora of compromising situations.
He wasn’t sure Alfred had even seen him this scared when there wasn’t fear toxin involved.
“Bruce?” Alfred asked, so gently that Bruce had to avert his eyes from the care.
“I need to go. There’s…” he glanced around for an excuse before simply making for the main staircase.
Alfred moved to stop him but there was a quiet ping from the central system and he had to turn back to help one of the Robins. “I moved the footage from the security camera to the folder you were working on last night. I’ll let him know you had work to do.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce muttered before fleeing into the Manor.
He locked himself in his lead lined panic room the second he reached his bedroom and didn’t leave until his hands stopped shaking.
[5]
The folder on Superman was too big.
It sat like an accusation on the batcomputer and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than reread it.
He knew what he was searching for.
What was wrong with Clark?
What would make a man so sweet and kind and fucking hot debase himself by fucking Bruce Wayne?
Alfred had given up on asking him if Clark would be stopping by again and Bruce had hacked into Dick’s phone to delete Clark’s number. He knew Dick would have already re-added him but the message was clear.
Bruce was avoiding Clark.
He just wished someone would tell Clark.
His phone buzzed for the fourth time in as many hours.
I’m in the area, can we talk?, Clark’s text read.
Bruce just turned his phone over and scrolled through to the photo of Superman.
Maybe his infatuation with Bruce was just Clark’s overinflated saviour complex.
If you could save Bruce, you could save anyone.
Bruce’s phone rang.
He ignored it in favour of clicking through the supplementary images in the folder; he left the batcave CCTV footage unopened. There was no world where he’d be able to betray Clark’s trust by watching the video of them having sex but he couldn’t bring himself to delete it either. It was as if he needed the file to exist so he could be sure it had happened at all.
Bruce’s phone rang again.
He clicked back to the main document and looked at the list of weaknesses.
Clark had been so gentle with Jason.
But he hadn’t been affected by the fear toxin.
Bruce wondered what that would even look like.
What did an invincible alien even have to fear?
He scrolled up to the section titles known immunities and added ‘fear toxin’ under ‘terrestrial diseases’.
His phone rang again and Bruce answered it as his blood boiled. “What?”
“I know why Poison Ivy and Scarecrow were working with LexCorp,” Dick said, voice calm enough to stop Bruce from having an actual aneurysm.
“And?”
“You should be getting the report through any moment but Lex attacked Wayne Enterprises pretending to be Poison Ivy under the illusion of environmental terrorism. The fear toxin caused everyone to think the exotic planets were evil and they panicked.” Dick sighed and Bruce took courage from the fact that Dick would have made sure everyone was okay before calling Bruce so casually. “They hit the panic button.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “So all the accounts are frozen?”
“Yep.”
“And it’s pay day?”
“Yep.”
“So our stock price has crashed?”
“Absolutely.”
“And LexCorp has bought a worryingly large amount of shares in Wayne Enterprises for cheap?”
“Bingo.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
“Why are you ringing me?” Bruce asked, feet kicked up on the desk as he stared down a black and white photo of Superman. “If Pamela and Johnathan find out that Lex used their tech for corporate bullshit, they’ll handle him themselves.”
“I need you to bring everyone’s salaries to Wayne Enterprises HQ in cash so we can still pay everyone. I’d do it myself but…”
“We need to keep up appearances,” Bruce sighed and hauled himself out of the desk chair.
“Besides, it would be good for your reputation. It’s a stupid stunt that ultimately paints you as a ditzy man-of-the-people billionaire and it might help the stock prices rebound.” Dick noted and Bruce felt himself grind his molars together when he realised why that sounded familiar.
“I do not need to rehabilitate my image, Dick.” Bruce muttered despite heading up into the Manor to change into his best suit. “No matter what Clark Kent says.”
“He’s a nice guy, Bruce.” Dick paused before lowering his voice slightly. “And you should return his calls.”
“We’re not having this conversation,” Bruce growled before hanging up the phone and setting it to airplane mode.
Alfred was already ready for him when he stepped into the foyer, surrounded by bags of cash and freshly pressed suit in hand. “Master Wayne, you can get ready in the limo.”
*****
It took all day and most of the night to distribute everyone’s paypackets and talk Pamela down from killing Lex with the very plants he’d ‘tormented’.
By the time Bruce headed down to the batcave, he just wanted to scroll through photos of Clark and stew in the mortifying ordeal of falling in love with someone truly perfect.
It was only his desire to sulk that allowed him to get so close to the main computer without noticing the man stood in front of it.
Tear-tracks glinted on Clark’s face in the glow of the batcomputer’s many monitors as dozens of pictures of himself stared back.
“Oh, shit,” Bruce muttered, blood running cold when he saw the photo of Clark’s parents nestled in the top left corner of the open files.
“That all you’ve got to say?” Clark asked, finally turning to look at Bruce with a look of depthless devastation.
Bruce swallowed, fear scrabbling at the inside of his throat. “How did you get in?”
“Dick texted me the code. Said we needed to talk.” Clark huffed out a humourless laugh that caught in his chest like a sob. “I thought it was about us… but then I saw this.” He waved a hand at the wall of screens. “What’s wrong with you?”
Bruce’s eyebrows shot up as he smiled, confused and upset. “I keep files on everyone Batman interacts with. The Justice Gang all have entries.”
Clark nodded, lips pursed as another tear danced over his cheek. “Do you film yourself having sex with them too?”
The world might as well have imploded for how violently Bruce’s system reacted.
Cold adrenaline pulsed through his veins as his chest heaved.
Clark just opened the grainy file.
“Don’t,” Bruce whispered.
But Clark didn’t owe him anything.
The video started from partway through and Bruce realised that Clark must have watched some of it already.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Bruce.” Clarks sweet kind voice was just audible over the rush of the shower.
Another tear ran over Clark’s cheek as his lips quivered.
“Turn it off,” Bruce said, fists clenched as his heart shattered.
“I want you too.” God, Bruce sounded destroyed. As if his voice has been dragged through gravel and ruined.
“Enough,” Bruce barked and the footage stopped. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“So you don’t… what was it you said… ‘fuck your way through your problems’?” Clark’s hands were shaking and Bruce wanted so desperately to reach out.
But instead he just stood there.
Clark hummed like he hadn’t expected anything less. “No, you’re right. I was just–” he scrolled through the list of weaknesses and Bruce’s body turned to ice. “--I’m just easy to emotionally manipulate.”
“No, I…” Bruce clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I meant.”
Clark’s eyes darted to Bruce’s chest before he shook his head. “I don’t know how you do that. Most people can’t hide their lies.”
“I’m not lying, Clark.”
“I don’t believe you,” Clark shot back, anger and hurt mixing into the most heartbreaking expression Bruce had ever seen.
Bruce took a deep breath as he tried not to lose control of his mind. “I warned you–”
“I don’t care.” Clark said despite the deep betrayal scrawled across his pretty face. “I was going to leave before you even got back but–”
“No,” Bruce tried, taking a quick step forward. He stopped when Clark flinched. “I can explain.”
“Oh, I understand.” Clark’s cheeks were still glistening in the light of the monitors and Bruce could almost pretend they were back in the shower. “You got everything you needed to make sure I wasn’t a threat and then you slinked off back to your life like I was nothing. And that’s… that’s fine.” Clark had never been a threat to Bruce before but he sure as shit looked dangerous now. “But my parents? They’ve done nothing wrong, Bruce.”
“I would never hurt them,” Bruce whispered, gutted that he even needed to say it.
“I’d drive kryptonite through my own fucking heart to keep them safe.” Clark was crying again, chest heaving and pretty pretty eyes spilling fat tears over his perfect cheeks. “I promise, Bruce. So you can write that down, next to fear toxin and terrestrial diseases.”
Bruce didn’t know what to do.
He couldn’t think past the still image of Clark on his knees in front of Bruce in the haze of the shower and the shine of Clark’s tear stained cheeks. “I care about you, Clark.”
“Don’t, Bruce. I’ve already said I’m not a threat, just promise you won’t hurt my Ma and Pa,” Clark begged and Bruce didn’t know how to tell him to stay.
“I love you.”
Clark snarled, anger and power snapping tight as the words hit him. “Jason was right about you. You just chew people up and spit them out. Fuck you, Bruce.”
Then Clark took off and flew out of Bruce’s life.
It only took a couple of hours for Bruce to make a plan.
Then he sent one final email and packed a bag.
He was out of Gotham before the sun even rose on his sins.
[+1]
Clark had flown straight to the Ice Fortress after he left the Batcave.
Four had just wrapped him in blankets, given him a pint of ice cream and sat him in front of the TV to watch shitty romcoms.
After he finished The Holiday, 57 Dresses, and The Proposal, his phone finally rang.
He half-hoped it was Bruce. That maybe there was some reasonable explanation and he could fly over and kiss him again.
He tried not to be disappointed when he saw Damian Wayne’s name light up his screen.
But then he realised that he didn’t actually have Damian’s phone number and the panic settled into his bones.
“Damian?” He answered, pausing the opening credits of Practical Magic and sitting up straighter.
“What was in the email?” Damian barked and even through the phone Clark could hear the fear hidden under his snooty tone.
Clark scrabbled towards his computer system. “What email?”
“Father sent you an email seven and a half hours ago, left a note on the batcomputer, then vanished and you haven’t even read it yet?” Damian snarled as Clark’s blood ran cold.
He signed into his work email and, sure enough, there was an email from Bruce. It was titled simply ‘I’m sorry’ and contained one attachment.
Clark started the download as a fight broke out on the line.
“Give me the fucking phone,” a voice barked in the distance.
“Let me talk to him,” Dick tried from even further away.
“Perhaps I could–” Alfred tried.
Then someone grabbed the phone. “What the fuck did you do to my Dad?”
And Clark had heard Jason Todd sound scared before. It was nothing to how he sounded now.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Clark muttered, his own fear curdling the litres of ice cream he’d consumed earlier.
But then the file popped open as the download finished.
“Oh… no,” Clark breathed.
The document was huge.
It was organised perfectly. Neat section headers titled things such as; family history, known weaknesses, major allies, and next of kin.
But when Clark scrolled, he didn’t see his own life dissected in black and white.
He’d only seen Martha and Bruce Sr. in the memorial photos they dragged out once a year on the anniversary of their murders.
It was shocking to see them in the dozens of family photos as they played with an adorably awkward Bruce Wayne.
A voice shouted at him from the phone line.
“I… I have to go,” Clark muttered before hanging up.
His phone immediately rang and he switched it to silent, eyes still glued to the chubby cheeks of an infant Bruce.
He read the rest of the file quickly.
It was not a complimentary document.
And there were parts that Clark wished he didn’t know.
Jason’s entire history was laid out in horrifying detail and Bruce had been deliberate in his conviction in declaring himself ultimately guilty of failing his son.
That was the first section that gave Clark that sickly ominous feeling in his gut.
It only deepened when Bruce explained Damian’s story and blamed himself for resenting how he was conceived.
But when Clark got to the list of weakness the feeling crystalised into something horrific.
Right at the bottom of the list (that started with waterboarding and only got more horrific) were two names.
‘Clark Kent/Superman’ was penultimate on the list. Next to a single sentence of explanation.
‘My heart is his to break however he wishes.’
The last name had Clark reaching for his phone.
Alfred answered on the first ring. “Master Kent?”
“Has Bruce ever tried to kill himself before?” Clark asked although he knew the answer. The ‘accidental’ overdose that occurred on the fifth anniversary of his parents death and the near fatal fight with Bane where he refused to fight back had been outlined in excruciating detail.
And Clark was pretty sure he was looking at a suicide note when he read ‘Bruce Wayne. For Jason.’ at the end of the list.
“Oh god,” Alfred whispered, voice thick.
“Where would he go?” Clark asked, hands shaking around the phone.
“I don’t…” Alfred whispered. “I don’t know.”
The phone changed hands again and Jason sounded like a child when he spoke next. “The Wayne Mausoleum.”
Clark was back in the sky before Jason had even finished speaking.
The stone doorway shattered as he slammed through.
Bruce froze.
He was stood in the middle of what Clark could only describe as a bachelor pad wearing only a pair of sweatpants and eating cold pizza.
“What the heck are you doing?” Clark asked, chest heaving as he tried to fight back the hysterical fear still bubbling in his chest.
Bruce glanced at the pizza still raised to his mouth and then back to Clark. “Eating pizza.”
“I thought you were dead.”
Bruce’s entire face went pale. “Oh, fuck. Yeah, that does make sense.”
“Makes sense? Makes sense?” Clark screeched, incredulous as he threw his hands in the air. “You send me that fucking document and expect me to think you’ve… what are you doing?” Clark held a hand up when Bruce looked back to the half-eaten slice in his hand. “If you say ‘eating pizza’, I’ll kill you.”
Bruce dropped the pizza and stood. “When I was sixteen, I broke into this place when I needed to talk to my parents. Then it sort of turned into a place for me to escape to. I know it’s stupid but–”
“I have a fortress in Antarctica. I get the need to be somewhere that you can just… be.” Clark pressed his knuckles into his sternum when his heart hurt and he didn’t know if it was grief, love, or icecream. “But… Jesus, Bruce, you’ve got to let people know that you’re okay.”
Bruce clenched his jaw and Clark felt a sickening realisation click into place.
“You didn’t think anyone would care, did you?”
Bruce winced and Clark felt like throwing up.
“Jason’s looking for you,” Clark said and watched the words hit Bruce. “Damian rang me. Alfred cried.”
“Are you trying to make me kill myself?” Bruce chuckled.
Clark was across the room before Bruce could blink, finger pressed into his sternum hard enough to bruise. “Do not joke about this, Bruce. Don’t you dare.”
“Sorry,” Bruce said immediately. “I left a note. I thought it was enough.”
“What, exactly, did this note say?” Clark asked and Bruce’s heart stumbled over itself.
“It’s… I said that I was giving Dick the company. And that they would manage without me.” Bruce glanced at the ceiling. “And that they should tell Jason I was sorry.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Clark accused as he splayed his hand across Bruce’s chest just to feel his heart beat beneath his palm.
“I’ve never taken vacation time before,” Bruce shrugged. But he covered Clark’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry to you too. But I sent you the email so I didn’t include you in the note. I know it doesn’t forgive what I did but–”
“Did you mean it?” Clark asked, hand flexing against Bruce’s bare sternum.
Bruce frowned and tilted his head. “The file is all correct. I… do you mean the thing that happened after the Met Gala because that was vastly exaggerated by the press?”
Clark stepped impossibly closer and cupped Bruce’s jaw. “Do you really love me?”
“Oh, yeah.” Bruce said like it was obvious and maybe it had been. “I know you don’t love me too but it was only fair for–”
“I love you,” Clark corrected, thumb dragging over Bruce’s lower lip. “I thought you were lying to keep me sweet. You did say that I had the ‘potential to be emotionally manipulated’.”
“No, I said you had the ‘potential for emotional manipulation’. As in, you could manipulate me. I admit it was unclear wording and I’ll do better in future,” Bruce said before pausing. “Wait, you love me?”
“You’re an idiot for a genius.” Clark felt the last of his fear slide off himself and ooze into sweet affection.
“I’ve been told,” Bruce smiled, soft and genuine. But then his entire face fell. “Oh fuck, I have to ring the kids, don’t I?”
Clark handed him his phone before ducking to press a kiss to Bruce’s lips.
Dick answered immediately. “Kent? Was he there?”
“Dick,” Bruce whispered and Clark pressed a gentle kiss to Bruce’s cheek before he wandered further into the admittedly creepy mausoleum apartment.
“Dad?” Dick’s voice shattered over the syllable and Clark heard Bruce’s heart trip over itself.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Dick said immediately, panic and fear colouring his voice as a chorus of other voices shouted in the background. “I can fix it. I promise, I… I can do the company stuff. Just–”
“I’m fine, Dick. I promise. I… I’m fine.” Bruce’s voice was impossibly level and reassuring even as his pulse skyrocketed. “Clark’s going to fly me home and we’ll all be together. I’m so sorry for worrying you.”
Dick sobbed and someone else grabbed the phone.
“Father?” Damian asked, tone almost as flat as Bruce’s. “Did I hear you are returning to the Manor?”
“Yes, son,” Bruce sighed, clearly calmed by Damian’s practicality. “I’ll be home soon. Clark’s just getting my shoes.” He signalled to Clark to get him a shirt too. “Is everyone okay?”
“Tim had a panic attack,” Damian informed him and Bruce clenched his jaw to stop it from wobbling. “Alfred is still crying. Dick is now also crying. And Jason…”
“Jason?” Bruce asked; Clark just helped him pull on a soft t-shirt before pressing a kiss to the fabric covering his shoulder.
“He is here too,” Damian muttered and Clark couldn’t help smirking at the barely disguised disdain in his voice.
“And you?” Bruce chewed his cheek for a moment and Clark just wrapped him in a hug from behind, head resting on his shoulder and hands around his stomach. “Are you okay, Damian?”
There was a soft barely there sound from the phone line. Damian cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Just come home. Now, preferably.”
“I’ll be…” Bruce glanced at Clark; he thought about it for a few moments before mouthing fifteen at Bruce. Bruce gave him a bemused look and Clark just rolled his eyes and mouthed seconds. “Less than a minute.”
“You better or I’ll kill the alien,” Damian snarled before the line went dead.
“They love you too,” Clark said before dropping a kiss to Bruce’s neck.
Bruce hummed, not entirely convinced, before turning to kiss Clark properly. It was a short chaste thing but Clark felt warmed through by it anyway. “Take me home, Clark. To the manor, not the cave.”
He didn’t even give Bruce time to tense before he sped them into the foyer of Wayne Manor.
“Oh, that’s…” Bruce muttered before turning a pretty shade of mint.
“Dad!” Dick yelled before slamming into Clark and Bruce. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Hi to you too,” Bruce muttered as Clark extracted himself carefully.
Icy blue eyes frowned at Clark for a moment but he just held his hands out placatingly.
He had no desire to get between Bruce and his sons.
Tim shot past him and he heard Bruce grunt when Tim slammed into him too.
He wandered to the main door, giving Bruce at least the semblance of privacy.
“You really fucked him up,” Jason said, leaning against front door frame and staring directly at Clark. “How’d you get Bruce to crack? Sure, I don’t want the guy dead– he still has to kill the Joker and all– but it’d be nice to know what buttons you pressed.”
Clark smiled at Jason before leaning next to him and watching as Damian tried to pretend that being dragged into the family cuddle was an inconvenience. He wasn’t doing a very good job.
“Come on,” Jason pushed as Alfred finally gave in and pulled Bruce into a fierce hug. “Spill, Superguy.”
“You should call me Clark,” Clark said, finally turning to pin Jaosn with a raised eyebrow. “That or step-Dad.”
Jason grinned. “Gross.”
“I said you were right,” Clark admitted, the memory rotten in his mouth. “That what you said after the fear toxin was true. That he used people and spat them out.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Jason’s lip wobbled as he shrugged. “He’s an idiot.”
“Definitely,” Clark agreed, easily. It drew a wet chuckle from Jason and it sounded like success. “You wanna join them?”
“Nah,” Jason lied, heart tripping over the lie. “I need to get going. Roy wanted to watch a movie and I totally flaked.”
“You know?” Clark said, turning back to watch Bruce ruffle Damian’s hair. “If you really wanted to piss Bruce off, you could always start hanging out around here.”
Jason huffed out a chuckle that sounded too much like laughing gas. “You think so?”
“It’s pissing me off just fine,” Clark lied, silently sending an apology to Ma for cussing so much. But he was pretty sure it was putting Jason more at ease than if he said ‘golly’ or ‘heck’.
“Tell him he’s a prick for me, would ya?” Jason muttered before disappearing into the night.
“He’ll be back,” Dick said and Clark had no idea how he’d snuck up on him.
“How can you be sure?” Clark asked, glancing over as Bruce rubbed Tim’s back and whispered softly to him.
Dick laughed, loud and bright and a little fake. “He came back from the dead, Kent. He can come back to the fucking batcave.”
“You doing okay?” Clark asked when Dick sniffed a little wetly.
“I didn’t know about the video,” Dick offered, holding a hand out when Clark looked aghast. “I didn’t watch it. And I grew up seeing Brucie. My Dad having sex isn’t really earth shattering. I just… Alfred moved it to the folder to stop any of us accidentally stumbling across it.”
“How often do you review footage of the bathroom?” Clark asked, nose wrinkled as he vowed to pee at his own home from now on.
Dick just shook his head. “Everyone in this house has PTSD. Even Alfred. Sometimes it’s helpful to know if the sound you hear is in your head or not.”
Clark nodded because he couldn’t even imagine a world where he would understand the things Bruce and his family had gone through.
“He’s worth it, you know?” Dick added when it was clear Clark had disappeared in his own mind slightly. “I mean… he’d fucked up, for sure. And weird. And cringey… and traumatised.” He glanced at Clark before shaking his head. “But he’s worth it. I’m… I’m glad he’s my Dad.”
Clark wondered if maybe half of Bruce’s issues would be fixed if any of his kids just came out and told him they loved him.
But then Bruce caught his eyes from across the room as Alfred scolded him for worrying them and he thought maybe Bruce did already know.
He hoped one day he’d believe them.
“I love him,” Clark said easily and Dick looked mildly uncomfortable with such a blatant declaration.
“I have no idea what he sees in you though,” Dick said before turning to leave.
But Clark had heard his heart trip over the lie and it felt like family.
It took a bit more persuading for Alfred to usher Tim and Damian to bed.
And then it was just Clark and Bruce.
“Hi,” Bruce said, softly.
“You look exhausted,” Clark noted, unable to stop himself from smiling back at Bruce.
Bruce just chuckled warmly. “Thanks.”
“It’s better than dead, Bruce.” Clark hadn’t meant for it to come out so devastated.
“I’m sorry, Clark. I really didn’t mean to worry you.”
Clark crossed the room slowly and slid his hands around Bruce’s waist. “I thought I’d lost you. I just got you and I thought I lost you.”
“You could never lose me,” Bruce whispered, his own hands tangling in Clark’s curls. “Though it does seem to be the only way to get everyone in one place.”
“Not funny.”
“Not even a little?”
“Nope,” Clark scolded gently. “Don’t do that to me again. I can’t handle that feeling again.” The words stuck in his throat and his voice shattered over the words.
Bruce’s eyes softened as he nodded. “I won’t. There might have been a time where it was different, but I’m not in that place anymore.”
“I’m not asking you not to feel like that,” Clark corrected gently. “I don’t think you can ever ask something like that from someone. I’m just asking that if you do, you tell me. And not in a shitty email or note. You’re not alone, Bruce. Help is only ever a question away.”
Bruce curled a lock of Clark’s hair around his thumb, bemused expression scrunching his face sweetly. “You really do like me, don’t you?”
“I do,” Clark agreed easily. “I love you as well.”
Bruce blushed so prettily and Clark didn’t bother trying to resist the urge to kiss him.
He heard a very faint ‘ew, gross’ from the balcony as Damian Wayne finally went to bed.
“Want to show me the famous bedroom of Bruce Wayne?” Clark whispered between chaste kisses.
“You know I haven’t slept with half of those models, right? I just never corrected them when they lied to the press.” Bruce said and Clark was amused to find his heart rate beating steadily.
Clark just cupped his jaw and nipped his lower lip. “I really don’t care how many people you’ve slept with as long as from now on it’s only me.”
“I think I can do that,” Bruce smiled. “And Clark?”
“Yeah, Bruce.”
“I love you too.”
“Thank God or tomorrow morning would be really awkward.”