Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clark relished in the little moments he could spend alone with his boyfriend. Dating as Batman and Superman was more than he could've imagined years ago, but it came with its own limitations. It was hard to see each other in a casual way. They couldn't go on dates because if people saw Batman and Superman sipping the same milkshake with two straws in a romantic café date, they would say a lot of things, and Batman had already expressed his concerns about the harm that could cause to their image as heroes. Clark, of course, did his best to ignore the pinch of pain in his heart every time he remembered the way Batman had said those words, in his cold, raspy tone like he was just talking about anther mission, not their literal relationship.

So he enjoyed moments like monitor duty in the Watchtower, on Thursdays and Mondays specifically, when the rotation system paired them together. It was their own kind of date night, and Batman clearly enjoyed that time, too. The two took their time to catch up and talk although Clark talked more than Batman did. Clark could speak about everything he did during his week. : his work at the Daily Planet, his outings with his friends, a new restaurant he discovered, a few villains he fought, a lead he was following about a corrupt politician, and more. Batman listened, nodding and occasionally commenting. Bruce knew he had to do those things to in order to show that he was, in fact, interested. 

Batman talked a lot less due to the fact that he couldn’t share anything else than vigilante stuff at the risk of exposing his secret identity. Because Bruce had the marvelous belief that keeping his civilian identity a secret from his partner for years was the ideal way to build a relationship. 

That’s what he couldn’t tell Clark a lot about meetings at WE, or the most recent mess that happened at the manor, or how much he wished he could invite Clark to the nicest possible restaurant and impress him, talk sweetly to him with no limitations and share a kiss without having to maneuver so the cowl doesn’t get in the way.

Among wishful thinking from the two of them, the conversation settled down into a comfortable silence. Batman had just finished talking about the last bad guy of the week he had to face in Gotham. Some kind of Joker wannabe who had created a hostage situation, trying to provoke Batman. Clark had listened with a subtle smile on his face, feeling his chest swell with pride. The way Batman talked about it, explaining step by step how he solved that problem, so passionate about telling his own story, made Clark happy. Batman had his gaze fixed on some point of the monitor, looking disinterested and neutral. At first, this habit was confusing, but after he learned the way that Batman showed his passion for things was to be extremely detailed and careful instead of particularly lively, it became easier to see it. 

He thought for a moment of the words to express it. He knew that if he spoke too eagerly or too enthusiastic, Batman would retreat into his shell. It could have multiple causes, but Clark didn’t think he knew enough to approach them.

“That sounds dangerous,” he said, his voice fairly neutral. “But I admire the way you stayed calm and controlled.” He used the word ‘admire’ because Batman would flinch if he said the word ‘love’ out of the blue. “You’re so level-headed and down to Earth,” he added with a grin. “I like that about you. I like it a lot.”

With his super hearing, Clark heard Batman’s heart skip a bit. His flusteredness was just confirmed by a subtle quirk on Batman’s lips. 

“Thank you, Clark,” he answered. 

It was unfortunate for Clark that he couldn’t see under the lead-lined cowl, or else he would’ve seen how Bruce’s eyes softened for him. Since he couldn’t do that, he focused on every little detail about the parts of Batman’s face he could actually see: the bottom part of his face and his jaw.

He appreciated Batman’s subtle smile lines, the small lift of the corners of his lips, the slight creases of his chin. He had already memorized every corner and millimeter of the uncovered skin, which was so warm in contrast to the cold metal of the mask.

Bruce felt bad. 

It’s not like he didn’t want to reveal his civilian identity. He yearned for a moment where they could be just the two of them, without the mantles of Superman and Batman weighing them down, but he was scared of so many things. 

He knew that being in a relationship with Clark as Bruce would put the reporter in the spotlight. Who was this rando dating Bruce Wayne? They’d ask. Fame by association forgave no one and Bruce knew it better than he would’ve liked. It was basically doom for Clark’s privacy, anonymity (as much as he could have, being a reporter) and social life. And then came the more physical risks. Bruce Wayne and his family get kidnapped often for a variety of reasons, and that meant Clark would be targeted as well.

Bruce knew the man was invulnerable, but he was still worried. What if that puts Clark’s secret identity in danger? Bruce could manage it, but with Clark, it was different. That wouldn’t only put Clark in risk, but his friends and family. He didn’t want to ruin Clark’s life. 

He had many reasons that made it illogical for him to reveal his identity, and they seemed to be doing fine like this, right?

Bruce hated remembering that. Sometimes he forgot the two of them were limited to their masks and duties, even in a relationship. He felt so comfortable around Clark that he forgot the weight of his cape on his shoulders, but after he was reminded of that, he would be uneasy the rest of the night.

Hopefully Clark doesn’t think it was something he’d said.

[...]

It was after a League meeting on Tuesday that Batman held Clark back for a moment.

He had thought it through. They’d just have to be very, very careful. He had kept relationships secret from the media before. It would be alright. He was Batman, gosh darn it.

“I want to meet after this,” Batman said with his low, raspy voice that sent Clark to the moon. Clark was surprised, and he wasn’t sure what Batman meant by those words. He showed it by tilting his head to the side and looking at Batman bemusedly. 

»I remember you were assigned to cover an event in Gotham tomorrow. A Wayne Enterprises presentation,” Bruce elaborated. “I would like to meet you there after. Without the mask.”

The confession hit Clark like eleven tons of bricks, enough to throw him off. But the initial shock was quickly replaced by happiness, even if a part of his brain didn’t believe it.

“Really?!” he exclaimed, and then remembered to regulate his volume. “Really? Are you sure?”

He hoped with all his heart that the answer would still be ‘yes’, and it was. 

“Of course. I’ll be happy to see you after,” Clark said with a big, happy grin on his face. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Could it be in the lobby of Wayne Tower at 6 p.m.?” Batman suggested. Clark raised an eyebrow. Batman added something else. “I’ll be at the event as well. I think it would be convenient just to meet there.”

In his head, Bruce had it all planned out. He’d meet Clark there after presenting WE’s newest prototype for a flying car, and if anyone asked, he’d brush it off as giving the Daily Planet an exclusive interview. He’d take Clark to his favorite high-end restaurant, which was not one he used to take all his dates to, and spend a lovely evening. 

Clark, on the other side, was making all kinds of theories of who Batman could be and would he be at the same event as him? Maybe he was also a reporter? No, he would’ve recognized him at some point by now. He must work at Wayne Enterprises, but what did he do there? What was his name?

Of course, Clark accepted gladly. He almost couldn’t wait.

[...]

Bruce Wayne spoke at the presentation with his usual charming grin and smooth voice. It was a popular belief that Wayne was nothing more than a himbo who was just the face of the company while his children ran everything from the shadows. Clark could see where this idea came from as he heard Bruce talk. He was witty, of course: the king of one-liners, most solicited bachelor for 26 years straight, Gotham’s perfect son with a heart of gold, throwing all his money at charities while also paying all his taxes, but also with the brain of a confused baby goat, if all the times he fell on fountains and accidentally spilled champagne on guests was anything to go by. 

Clark was almost blinded by Wayne’s titanium white grin. He had to squint his eyes to see him. The man didn’t only have a perfect heart of gold, but he also had a perfect face. Even with his super vision, Clark struggled to see even a tiny pore on his face. Not even the slightest wrinkle was left when he relaxed his expression. His cheekbones were so sharp he could’ve cut steel with them. Clark couldn’t help but be distracted by what must’ve been the best botox work he’d ever seen on a celebrity, because he could see some kind of plastic under that makeup.

Wayne stepped down so Timothy Drake-Wayne could talk. The kid obviously had more synapses in his brain than Bruce could brag about. 

[...]

The event ended quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent Bruce Wayne from getting drunk. His loud voice and laughter was hard for Clark to ignore as he asked questions to engineers and directors. It was strident and clear, piercing Clark’s ears with every note. He was already struggling to concentrate, his mind constantly drifting to Batman.

His heart beat faster every time he thought about that. Every opportunity he had, he searched the crowd, trying to find Batman’s subtle lip lines on someone’s face, to no avail. He was growing restless the more time passed. But it doesn’t matter if he didn’t make it here. Maybe he’s busy with something, Clark thought to himself. He’s a man of his word, he wouldn’t stand me up. 

The event ended on a high note, with Bruce Wayne crashing against a champagne tower and getting drenched. He was rushed out by one of his assistants and with that, the event was finished, at 5:40 p.m., giving Clark perfect time to get to Wayne Tower’s lobby. 

[...]

It had really been an accident when Bruce crashed with the champagne tower. He was pretending to be drunk, but he hadn’t expected to bump into an actual drunk person and knock off the tower trying to dodge them.

Now, his clothes were ruined, his hair was ruined, and his make up was falling apart. He had to meet Clark in 19 minutes!

Alright, Bruce. Think.

He could make it to the gym, and therefore, the gym’s showers, in four minutes through the elevator. There were very few people in the offices that day, so it would be empty.

As he got undressed, he texted Tim. Get me a change of clothes from my office, please. Desk’s bottom right drawer. I’m in the tenth floor’s showers. His fancy clothes were abandoned on the floor, and he would probably be reprimanded by Alfred later, but he could think of that when he returned from his date. 

His mind was filled with many things, among them, how his makeup artist was going to scold him for not removing his makeup properly. He removed his latex applications and threw them in the trash can as he walked into the shower. He probably left traces of base, concealer and mascara on his skin as he washed his face with the generic soap they had there, but it would have to be enough. Just while he was washing his hair with cheap shampoo, Tim announced that he would leave the clothes on the bench outside the showers because he had no intention of risking getting a glimpse of Bruce. Bruce was grateful for that. 

He stepped out and dried himself as quickly as he could and started getting dressed. These clothes weren’t as fancy as he had been wearing, but at least they weren’t drenched in champagne. He fixed his hair as best as he could, but it was nowhere as neat as it had been just half an hour before. He looked at himself in the mirror and he saw a mess. That was not how he wanted Clark to see him for the first time, but there was no time to do his makeup all over again.

He checked his watch. 5:56 p.m.

He abandoned his dirty clothes there and texted Tim to retrieve them later. He had more urgent things to do. 

Like waiting for the elevator. Weirdly enough, nobody acknowledged him in the packed elevator. He squished himself in and instead of people greeting him with the classic “ Mr. Wayne! ”, everyone stayed silent. 

With every stop that the elevator made; Bruce felt more and more desperate. He was usually very in control, but all the emotions and impatience building inside of him were taking him to his limit. He didn’t need super hearing to listen to every single person’s breath inside that elevator, hear every creak of the machinery or sense the buzzing of the led lights above. The human heat inside wasn’t making it any better for his overwhelmed senses. It was a relief when the elevator finally reached the lobby and people poured out of it, dragging him out as well with the force of an ocean wave.

He checked his watch again. 6:02. He was late.

He felt a terrible weight on his chest. He felt sad. Clark would probably have the worst impression of him. He had already gotten himself in a champagne mess, messed up his appearance, and now he was late. 

But he had to make do. He looked around the lobby for Clark, his heart beating a mile a minute. When he found him, he saw Clark was also looking for him.

Clark never thought that two minutes past the hour was late, but he knew Batman, and Batman was strict about everything, so he expected to be seeing him around at 6:00 p.m. exactly. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to go immediately, but he had to wait a bit more, since he didn't seem to recognize his knight in shining armor.

He knew it would be harder to recognize him without the cowl on, but that was his boyfriend we are talking about. Of course he’d be able to recognize him. 

His theory was proved correct when he saw a man who seemed to be looking for someone. A black haired man in a white cotton shirt and black dress pants, looking out for someone in the crowd. His hair seemed a bit damp and under his slightly furrowed brows were the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen, with crow’s feet at the corners and eyebags for days. It was when Clark’s eyes reached the man’s lips when recognition sparked within him, and the widest grin was drawn on his face. That was Batman. There was no mistake.

“Hey!” Clark called out, waving his hand when his and the man’s eyes locked. The man’s eyes widened in recognition and he started walking towards Clark, dodging people in the crowd. Clark did the same. The more they closed up, the better Clark could see his face, and he was drinking every little detail of it. The shape of his eyes and the color of his irises, creases on his brow and forehead from frowning too much and sun spots on his cheekbones, and messy dark hair that waved slightly at the ends. That was the image of Clark’s perfect man.

The two came to a stop one before the other, around two feet from each other. They stood basically at the same height, and Clark recognized the stance. Batman had a unique posture that reflected his training, his control of his body. It was something Clark hadn’t seen on anyone else.

“Hi,” he said with a smile, his voice breathy and quiet. 

“Hi,” the man responded, his pupils dilated and his eyes widened with interest. Clark was surprised to see how those eyes expressed such intense emotion. He was never going to be tired of seeing it. 

They would recognize each other everywhere, they both knew.

Clark held out his hand, an invitation for the man to take if he wished. Bruce placed his hand over Clark’s and relished on the feeling of that warm and steady touch.

“Shall we get going?” He asked Clark, the fondness never leaving his eyes. His voice was raspy. He couldn’t shake off the reflex of using his Batman voice in front of Superman, but it was softer than usual, at least.

“Yes,” Clark confirmed. “I assume you have a place in mind?”

“Of course,” the man said and smirked. 

“I thought so. That’s great.” Clark’s heart fluttered in his chest. This man was so dreamy, and he finally knew how Batman was under the cowl. Batman was holding his hand, Batman was-

Wait a second. Clark hadn’t caught his name.

“Just a little question,” he said as he walked. “What’s your name?”

Bruce choked on his own breath. 

Chapter Text

Bruce choked on his own breath. What was Clark talking about? Hadn’t he just seen him on the podium? Had he never seen him in the newspapers? That was completely improbable, considering that Clark was literally a journalist. Did he suddenly shift into an alternate reality where he wasn’t famous? What did just happen?

“What?” He asked, still a bit dumbfounded and shocked. “It’s Bru-” His first reflex was to answer, but he hesitated. 

In a millisecond, all his doubts flashed before his eyes. For some godly or ungodly reason, Clark wasn’t recognizing him. He’d solve that later. But then again, the risks. Clark’s life, ruined because of him. He felt like he wanted to puke from that sudden rush of panic that filled his chest. Batman couldn’t panic, damn it. And Clark surely noticed. 

“-no,” he said, coughing to disguise his slip up. “Bruno Díaz.” 

The lie escaped his lips as naturally as they came. That was a bad idea, and he knew. Lying to Clark again wasn’t going to solve anything, but if Clark still didn’t know who he was, then it was better. Nobody knew who he was, apparently. The other people in the lobby weren’t paying attention to him, and reporters still seemed to be waiting for Bruce Wayne to come out, not knowing he was already there.

“Oh. Bruno.” Clark was even happier to finally know the name of the man he loved, after years of nothing more than an alias and a cowl. He thought to himself that the man didn’t look particularly hispanic, but he chided himself for his stereotypes. 

Bruce (Bruno?) gave Clark a smile, which felt a bit forced. “I’m happy to see you, Clark,” he said. He kept control of his expression for the sake of not giving away the stupid lie he just said, but in his mind, he was already altering his plans. “Sorry, just a minute, I have to make a call.”

Clark nodded and Bruce walked away, knowing Clark wouldn’t listen on him and retreating to a corner of the room to make his call. He tapped his foot anxiously as he waited for Alfred to answer.

“Master Bruce, I’m already in line to pick you up at the entrance,” Alfred informed him when he picked up. “Are you and Mr.Kent ready to go?”

“Alfred, I need you to cancel the reservation,” he said nervously. “Something came up. There’s no time to explain. I need a cab, please.”

“And why on Earth do you need a cab when I am already at the entrance to pick you up in a Porsche?” Alfred asked, the confusion and mild annoyance seeping into his tone. 

“I said there’s no time to explain. I’ll explain later,” Bruce said between gritted teeth. “Could you call a cab? Please?”

“Very well, master Bruce,” Alfred conceded with a sigh. “Did something go wrong?”

“Moreorlessbutit'snotimportantrightnow. And one more thing!” Bruce added hurriedly before Alfred had the chance to hang up. “I really have no idea. What’s a middle class restaurant that we can go to that isn’t tasteless but isn’t also too over the top?” He asked. 

Alfred, who was already driving away, raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t even imagine what Bruce had in mind. “I am not so sure myself, but I’d say the French restaurant across from Gotham’s library is a fine choice to meet your requirements.”

Bruce sighed in relief. “Thank you, Alfred. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You are very welcome, master Bruce. I shall call and see if they have last minute reservations.”

"That's another thing. Could you make a reservation under the name 'Díaz'?"

There was a long silence (a few seconds of pure torture for Bruce) before Alfred confirmed and hung up.

[...]

Bruce thought that Clark was way more understanding and less judgmental than he should be. Riding in a cab, even if it was one of the fancier ones, wasn’t impressive for Batman. Clark didn’t mind at all. He never expected to be picked up in a Porsche anyways, but Bruce still felt like it wasn’t enough.

“So you work at Wayne Enterprises?” Clark asked. He wasn’t growing tired of looking at Bruce’s (Bruno’s?) face, and that made it a bit hard for Bruce to look back at him. “I didn’t see you at the presentation.”

Bruce wanted lightning to strike him right there as another lie rolled off his tongue. “Yeah, I work at Wayne Enterprises. I was backstage, making sure everything went well. That’s why you didn’t see me." He gave Clark a half smile.

“Oh, I see.” Clark’s interest was increasing. There was so much he didn’t know about him and he wanted to know it all. “And what do you do at Wayne Enterprises?”

The more the conversation progressed, the more Bruce realized he was sinking himself in quicksand he wouldn’t be able to come out of. “I’m an engineer,” he said. “I worked on the project.” Bruce went through all the information he had about the car, all he remembered of the blueprints and production. It wasn’t much. “I specialize in circuitry. I was just there to make sure everything went right.”

Clark nodded and listened attentively. He didn’t know that much about that topic. Sure he knew his way about kryptonian and aerospace circuitry, but car circuitry was something he had never thought of learning. If Bruno knew so much about cars, then it made sense that he had the Batmobile. He would ask about the bat-plane and all the other bat-vehicles later.

The restaurant was not the kind that Bruce frequented. He either went to high-end restaurants or diners hidden in a hole in the wall, no in between. The place was nice enough. It had small flower arrangements at every table with little candles in the middle, and for some reason, everything was purple. There was a single piano player in the corner who was playing a song Bruce didn’t recognize. 

When the hostess asked if they had a reservation, Bruce very stiffly said "Díaz", and they were let in.

The chairs were cheaper than Bruce was used to, but he’d survive. On the other side, Clark looked pleased. It was a really nice atmosphere, and it was his first real date with his boyfriend! He wanted to hold hands on top of the table and sip the same milkshake with two straws.

Maybe not. The restaurant was nice. He couldn’t act like a high school boy. 

The two commented on the menu a bit before ordering. Bruce still couldn’t shake off the restlessness from this new situation. Did he have to act a certain way? His usual conversation topics were out of the question, since the point of all this was to not talk about Batman stuff. Were comfortable silences out of the question as well? Were more expressions expected from him as well? Maybe he could still talk about technology and gadgets. 

He was frustrated. Even with all this circus, he still couldn't tell Clark about his daily life. 

For once, the silence between him and Clark made him uncomfortable. Not because he needed to fill it, but because he was scared that this time, Clark expected something different.

“You will be returning to Metropolis later tonight, right?” He asked. He knew Clark’s schedule, but he still wanted to make conversation.

“Oh, actually, have been meaning to mention that,” Clark answered. “I’ll have to stay tonight. Perry gave me an assignment last minute, and it's first thing in the morning tomorrow. I haven’t had the time to tell you. Sorry.That's also why I have the backpack.” He gestured to the bag he had left at the foot of the table when they sat down. “I’ve been looking for a hotel. The Daily Planet pays, in the end, so I’m not too worried.” He shrugged.

Bruce’s mind immediately went back to 27 years ago, the first time he was dating a supermodel and he was young and inexperienced. Alfred scolded him when one time, the girl was just passing by the city and was looking for a hotel to spend one night only, and Bruce had given her a recommendation, called her a cab and returned to the manor by himself.

“Are you that clueless, boy? If the girl has to stay in hotels, what use is it for her to be dating you?” Alfred had told him. “It’s too late for that now, but the next time, you’ll invite her to stay in the manor like a gentleman. It is unacceptable that a girl you’re dating has to sleep in a hotel.”

“Would you like to stay at my home?” Bruce offered. “I have more than enough room.”

He only regretted those words after he had said them. Of course the manor had more than enough room, but Bruno Díaz couldn’t just take Clark to Bruce Wayne’s manor.

“I’d be happy to,” Clark said, accepting immediately, much to Bruce’s dismay. “I really appreciate it.”

Bruce was about to jump from the balcony when Clark reached out and placed his hand over Bruce’s. That gesture, so simple but also so meaningful, helped him settle down.

“You are the best boyfriend I could’ve ever asked for,” Clark said.

Okay, that was a good reaction, and that motivated Bruce. He could do this. He just had to text Alfred and make this dinner last for two hours at least. That should be enough time to rent out a house in the suburbs, and move Damian and Duke in, with their two dogs and enough stuff to survive a night. 

This would be alright.

[...]

As Alfred herded the two kids into the simplest SUV they had, along with two dogs, six suitcases, four duffel bags and one large box, he cursed the day he came to work for the Waynes. 

“Pennyworth, why are we moving out of the blue?” Damian had asked.

“The evidence suggests that your father contracted a brain-eating amoeba and unfortunately, it starved.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“Just get in the car, master Damian.”

[...]

The date hadn't been all that bad. Bruce could catch a little break from speaking when the food was brought to the table, and there was even a little struggle to see who'd pay the bill. Of course, working class Clark Kent would expect to split the bill with working class Bruno, and Bruce couldn't exactly tell him he was a billionaire and diner would not even make a small dent in his wallet.

“Really? You want to split the bill on a reporter's salary?” Bruce pointed out with a genuine grin, the most sincere one of the night. Clark always gave up at the ‘reporter salary’ part. It didn't hurt him, though. Batman had said it many times before, and this particular time, it was to do something romantic for him.

Bruce called another cab. He was already getting annoyed of pretending he didn't have a car. He was glad this charade would end soon… Right?

Clearly he didn't think this through, he realized as he recited the address Alfred had texted him. He would have to say the truth eventually, and he had definitely dug his own grave the moment he chose to lie. Clark wouldn't forgive him. He just doomed everything-

The cab finally arrived to their destination: a nice, two story house in the suburbs, right by Gotham’s river’s wastewater treatment plant, so the air didn't smell as bad as the other areas by the river’s shore. It was nice and middle class, while also big enough for the family. Bruce had orchestrated the perfect plan. He managed to text Alfred some of the details of what was going on, so at least there must be some preparations already.

“Just some things from the office,” he had told Clark to justify his texting. He hated texting when he had Clark right there to talk to.

Meanwhile, Clark was ecstatic. So many things were happening and he was completely on board, but he couldn't help but think that Batman (Bruno) was acting strange. His expressions seemed strained and he sounded nervous as he spoke. He never sounded nervous as Batman. Maybe he was compartmentalizing? Pushing down his shy nature while wearing the cowl? Or maybe revealing his identity caused him too much anxiety. Batman was the most careful out of all the Justice League members when it came to secret identities. Maybe he had some kind of insecurity (which Clark couldn't fathom because he had no idea what this perfect man could be insecure about). Clark wondered if he had pressured him in some way. It wasn't a good thought.

But never mind that. If that was the case, then that meant all that Clark had to do was to reassure him. 

“You have a lovely home,” Clark said as they walked in. “Thank you again for inviting me. I'm so grateful for your trust.” He looked directly into Bruce's eyes, hoping he could see the sincerity in them.

Bruce just wanted to punch himself.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Kent,” a voice said behind them. It was Alfred greeting them, wearing a blue polo shirt tucked in khakis and white sneakers. Apparently, that was the best imitation of a suburban grandpa Alfred could muster. Bruce cringed internally.

“Ah! Yes. Clark Kent. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr…?” Clark held out his hand for Alfred to shake.

“Mr. Wilson,” Alfred told him, shaking Clark's hand. “Robert Wilson.” 

Bruce cringed again, but he forced himself to come forth and explain. “He is my adoptive father,” he told Clark. At least that part was true. “He helps me with the kids sometimes.”

Clark raised his eyebrows with surprise. So Bruno was adopted? What happened to his parents?

“It's a pleasure to be here,” he said, shaking Alfred's (Robert’s?) hand almost too eagerly. 

“And it's a pleasure to have you here,” Alfred said back.

Alfred’s side eye at Bruce would’ve given everything away if Clark wasn’t still totally enraptured by his beloved. Then, the two heard footsteps coming down the stairs and what seemed to be arguing whispers.

“No way, he really brought Superman.”

“It appears Pennyworth was right about the amoeba, as much as it pains me to admit it.”

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clark made a mental note to memorize the quirk of those eyebrows.

“Boys, don't be rude and come say hi!” Bruce called out with the tone only a tired single father of seven could achieve.

From around the corner of the hall, two faces peeked out. Two boys. One of them looked a lot like Bruno, and the other didn't resemble him at all.

“You must be Bruno’s boys,” Clark said fondly. Looking closely, he recognized Robin’s hair on the youngest one, and the older one’s features seemed familiar from a report about a daylight Gotham vigilante. “Robin and… Signal, right? But you have real names. What are they?” 

He gave them a friendly grin. Kids loved him, even if Robin was a bit spikey, but he was like that with everyone so he didn't take it personally. Hopefully, he could start this whole ‘no masks’ thing with the right foot.

“My name is Da…” The youngest started saying, but he was interrupted.

“Daniel,” Bruno said. “Daniel Díaz.”

Damian’s face had never shown more disappointment in his father. 

“And I am Tony Warren,” Duke announced proudly. “And you're right. I'm the Signal. Daniel is Robin.”

Bruce felt like he had aged fifteen years in one second. He wasn't as prepared as he thought to see his kids going along with the lie.

“So, you're Superman,” Damian (Daniel?) spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Disappointing. I would imagine you at least had a better fitted suit.”

“Daniel,” Bruce warned with gritted teeth.

“No, it's okay, Bruno. He's right,” Clark said, his expression full of understanding and sympathy. He felt so giddy that he didn’t even mind Daniel’s rudeness. 

He had entertained the thought of children briefly while he was dating Lois, but then it didn’t work out and his fantasies had banished in a poof. He always wanted to be a father one day. He was motivated by his own parents’ way of raising him, but he was very much aware it would be complicated. It would be hard to find someone who knew him, loved him and accepted him for who he was, both as Clark Kent and Superman. He hadn’t only given up the idea of kids after the breakup with Lois, he had given up the idea that someone could ever love him in the same way. Until Batman. This might be his chance. He didn’t mind the occasional insults and mocks. The kids would probably warm up to him eventually. Bruno was giving him more than he could've asked just by being there. The thought had him on cloud nine.

“Daniel, Tony,” Bruno said stiffly. “You’re up too late. Go to bed.” 

“What?!” Both kids looked scandalized. Protestations immediately began.

“First of all, Signal has school tomorrow and the daylight shift,” Bruno started saying. “And second of all, I asked Nightwing to cover patrol in Gotham tonight. Robin won’t need to go out tonight. Understood?” 

He was giving his kids a serious glare, his arms crossed over his chest with a ‘no-bullshit’ stance that he had given the Justice League countless times before. They didn’t seem pleased, but they could recognize that it was an order and not a request. 

“Tt, this is unfair,” Damian said as he went back upstairs. 

Duke just glared back at Bruce as he walked back. The message was clear. Very bold considering we're doing you a favor. 

It might’ve been childish, but Bruce was aware that his kids were, in fact, doing him a big favor by going along. It was a dangerous choice to get on their bad side. He just had to talk to them later and bribe them with something. Or extort them. Whatever worked best.

“Sorry about them,” Bruno told Clark with a sigh. “Kids, am I right?”

Before Clark could say anything about that, Alfred chimed in.

“Kids indeed. They can be hard at times, but they never stop surprising you,” he said as he put on a brown cashmere jacket. “I will be going back home. See you tomorrow.”

Bruce’s eyes just widened. He was grateful Clark was facing Alfred and he couldn’t see his shocked expression, but he couldn't say anything. He just hoped Alfred could see his expression and have mercy on him. Apparently, it was his unlucky day, because he didn’t see any hint of compassion in Alfred’s eyes as he left. He could understand. He was disappointed in himself enough.

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to relax. “Are you tired?” He asked. “It’s getting late, after all.” Bruce wasn’t tired himself, he was used to going to sleep at 5 a.m. and waking up at 10, 11 if he was lucky. Clark, being a daylight hero with a normal 9 to 5, probably had different sleeping habits. 

“I could use going to bed,” Clark told him with a smile. 

“The bedrooms are upstairs,” Bruce then said. “Come with me.”

And Clark followed. He paid attention to the house and how it seemed impeccable, even if a bit stereotypical. There were a couple of family pictures on the walls, a flower vase in the center of the dining table, a toy gun abandoned on the floor, placed in a geometrically pleasing angle. Who would’ve known Batman’s house could be so… domestic? The truth is that Clark imagined it more minimalistic. Or maybe a gothic manor. That would fit him right.

On his side, Bruce was glad that Alfred was able to rent a house with all the needed furniture in such short notice. He didn’t know how that was possible, but he knew Alfred would do it, and didn't question the mysterious ways he used. 

“This is my bedroom,” he said, opening the door to the one room that wasn’t already occupied by Damian or Duke. It was a normal room with a double sized bed (too small for Bruce’s liking), a closet and a small walk in bathroom. 

Clark walked in and turned back, expecting Bruce to come in as well, but Bruce was still at the doorstep. “Bruno? Aren’t you coming in?” Clark asked, a bit bemused. He also tried to ignore the tension in Bruno’s shoulders when he pronounced the name. Maybe he still wasn’t used to Clark calling him by his name. 

Bruce still wasn’t sure what to do. He and Clark had been working together for longer than they had been a couple. They had been in situations of both forced and willing proximity. More than once they had slept together on the tiny beds in the Watchtower’s rooms (with Bruce wearing the Batman uniform and cowl, but still). This time, it felt different and Bruce was hesitant. This time there was no Batman cowl to protect his feelings, it was him, practically nude to the world without a persona to hide behind.

“I was just thinking of checking some files in the Batcomputer…” Bruce said tentatively. He just wanted something to justify his hesitance. The Batcomputer was too far away to consult.

“Right, right…” Clark hummed as he put his backpack down. “It’s okay, just…” He walked up to Bruce casually, avoiding his eyes just until the last moment. He wanted the dramatic effect of suddenly locking eyes with Bruce in the perfect angle. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

Bruce’s heart thumped upon facing such intense eye contact. His heart melted a bit in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. He wasn't nude to the world, just Clark, and Clark loved him.

“No, I am not so sure.” He walked into the room and closed the door behind him. That action just closed the distance between the two, leaving them chest to chest. Clark looked at Bruce’s face with such adoration that Bruce was tempted to pull away from that scrutiny, but he didn’t. In the bottom of his heart, he didn’t want to. 

Clark reached out to touch Bruce’s cheek softly and gently, enjoying the fact that he could brush his beloved’s hair out of his face now and admiring the blue eyes that were trying to avoid his gaze. He felt his heart so full of love.

“Is it alright if I…” Clark said tentatively, leaning in a little but not closing that distance just yet.

“Yes, yes, it’s alright,” Bruce replied, and watched as Clark’s face got closer and he finally felt those lips on his.

It was a soft, chaste kiss, just like Bruce liked them, and he melted into it. Without the weight of the cowl, it felt easier to kiss Clark, and he didn’t have to worry about poking him in the face with the metal parts. That alone made it almost too perfect to be true.

Bruce just kicked off his shoes, Clark did the same and the two got into bed. They kissed until they were too tired to continue, and as the two were falling asleep in each other’s arms, Clark whispered, “I love you, Bruno. I want to get to know all of you.”

What a way to ruin it for Bruce, but he was well aware it was his own fault.

Chapter Text

Bruce struggled to sleep that night. He was running every possible scenario in his mind, trying to find one where Clark doesn't break up with him when the truth comes afloat, but his brain came up with none. The moment Clark found out the truth, then it was over.

His only option was to stretch this charade as long as possible. Maybe if he avoided in-person meetings in a civilian context, this could last for a few months before its inevitable demise.

Was he wrong for grieving a relationship that wasn't even over yet?

Clark’s arms were warm and heavy as they wrapped around him. He enjoyed the comfort they brought. After hours of semi-consciousness, he jumped alert again by a quiet vibration from his phone on the nightstand announcing 5 a.m.

Usually, it would be his reminder to go to sleep, but this time, it was his sign to get up and do something. 

He invoked all the stealth training he'd had in his life to slide out of Clark's arms without waking him up. The Kryptonian had to be a heavy sleeper or else he wouldn't catch any sleep at all due to his super hearing. At least he had that in his favor. Clark stirred but stayed asleep.

While Bruce had already assumed the bleak fate of his relationship, he couldn’t just do nothing in the meantime. He changed the shirt and pants he had slept in for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt Alfred had piously put in the closet and went downstairs. Like he expected, Alfred wasn’t there to cook breakfast, so it was up to him.

He pulled the fridge door open and found it fully stocked and neat (thanks, Alfred), but that didn’t make him feel particularly better, knowing the difficulties he had in kitchens. He could cook, alright ? He just had to stay focused for long enough. That was a little bit of a challenge. 

Now, there were four people he had to make breakfast for. He had eggs, orange juice and apples. Perfect for omelets and sliced apples. 5:07 a.m., an hour until the kids wake up. He better get to work.

Forty minutes later, he had four omelets on plates and two in the trash can. He was a bit too distracted reading the report of last night’s patrol to realize the first one was burning, and the second one was just too ugly because it was still raw when he tried to flip it. 

Maybe it was a bad idea to cook the omelets first, but in his defense, he had thought it’d take a lot more failed attempts. Now the omelets would get cold when the kids came down. Dammnit, he’s an idiot. A lying, bad-at-communication idiot who messes everything up, from breakfast timing to the best relationship in his life. He could put the omelets in the microwave later. He had to move on with the next task.

Just as he picked the knife to slice the apples, he heard the door opening. His heart hoped it would be Alfred to help him confirm if he was doing alright, but no. It was another silhouette, slightly sturdier but still lean, with agile steps as the person walked inside. 

“I passed by the Batcave and A gave me a copy of the keys,” Dick informed Bruce. He didn’t seem that enthusiastic. “And he also told me everything. First of all, how could you-”

Bruce interrupted him, raising his hands as a gesture of rendition and silently asking for a chance to explain. 

“Not my proudest moment, I am able to admit that,” Bruce said. Dick pressed his lips into a thin line, not convinced at all. “I have my reasons, at least let me explain.”

“Then explain.”

Bruce sighed and nodded. “Just give me a second.”

On his phone, he played a white noise frequency to super hearing-proof the area of the kitchen. That would give them a bit of privacy (and secrecy) from Clark's extraordinary capabilities.

“I know it was wrong to lie,” Bruce said. “But Bruce Wayne was never meant to have a partner or settle down. The media would tear Clark apart, then his family. You know the worst things that could happen. Clark doesn't need the burden of dating someone like Bruce Wayne.”

“Sure. Of course. You always come up with the best excuses to just not act like the grown adult you are,” Dick said. He was clearly angry, and Bruce thought it was a bit of an overreaction. “Maybe it's you who doesn't need the burden.”

“Dick, this is not the time-”

“No, no.” Dick huffed exasperatedly. “I know, it's not the time. I'm taking time away from you that you could be using to figure out how you're going to solve this, because you messed up.”

“I know,” Bruce said, looking down. “I know. You don't have to tell me that.”

“Oh, but I have to tell you,” Dick told him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because for some reason, it's like you don't learn from your past mistakes. Honestly, I'm surprised that your relationship has lasted four years without you being capable of trusting your boyfriend.”

“Dick. Enough,” Bruce said roughly and Dick stopped talking, he just kept looking at Bruce, silently judging.

Bruce looked defeated. The weight of his actions had been pulling him down emotionally all night, and it felt like Dick was just purposefully rubbing salt in the wound.

“I know it was wrong to lie. It all slipped out of control faster than I expected, and I don't know what to do now,” Bruce said with a sigh. “I guess it's true. I also wanted to avoid being seen dating as Bruce Wayne. The cameras, the media, it's also overwhelming for me. For once, nobody treated me like I'm stupid, they weren’t even noticing me at all. I felt like a normal person.”

“That’s because you look like a sleep deprived zombie without makeup. Of course nobody recognized you,” Dick replied, rolling his eyes. “And you might feel normal, but you can't really be yourself, can you?” 

“... No.”

“You know you have to tell him, right? You can't keep this up forever.”

“I know.”

“Do you actually plan to? Or do you plan to let him find out?”

The kitchen fell silent after that, the only sound being the white noise playing on Bruce's phone. It was already getting on his nerves, so he turned it off. It was also his way to say that the conversation was over. Dick knew Bruce had this little habit of avoiding words, and knew that Bruce thought the conversation was done, but Dick wasn't done.

“I’m gonna tell him if you won't,” Dick said, unfolding his arms. “By the way, Little D is not going to like the omelets.”

“Wait! Wait what? What's wrong with the omelets?” There were some things to unpack there but he'd manage it later.

»”No, don't do that,” he said, his eyes wide with shock and a bit of fear from Dick’s words. “I will manage this myself. This is an order, do not- ” Bruce suddenly shut his mouth.

“Good morning!” Clark said, wearing the warmest smile Dick or Bruce had ever seen on someone's face at 6 a.m. as he entered the kitchen. “How’s everything? My name is Clark.” He held out his hand for Dick to shake. Bruce froze and Dick reached out for that hand with a smile. The two knew Clark had probably heard everything since the noise was turned off.

[...]

Clark had been slowly coaxed out of sleep by a strange ringing in his ears, but it was his alarm at 5:55 a.m. that fully snapped him to reality. 

He realized Bruno wasn't in bed with him, so he didn't think it was worth it to go for five more minutes. He turned off his 6:00 alarm and sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The ringing in his ears wasn't shutting up. It wasn’t a normal sound. It was like his ears had partially stopped working and caused all the sounds to dim. 

He had felt this before, but not in the same situation. It was a sensation that filled him with unease due to the fact that the other times he'd felt the same sensation was in run ins with villains and criminals who didn’t want Superman to hear them. That also meant the sound was in a radius of less than 1 km.

He'd have to tell Bruno about that to investigate together. Or maybe not. Bruno had been on edge since the day before. He seemed tense and honestly, he was acting weird. Of course, he had expected slight change once Batman took off his mask and revealed his identity. Maybe he'd be more open, or more calm, but on the contrary, Bruno seemed to be even more on edge since then. Clark chided himself for jumping to conclusions, but maybe, just maybe, it would've been better if Bruno hadn't revealed his identity at all. Clark’s instincts were telling him they were dangerously close to a step back in their relationship. That was what he had been thinking as he took a shower and changed into yet another pair of ill-fitted pants and a white shirt. 

As he walked out of the room, the noise stopped and all the sounds hit him again at the usual volume. It took him a moment to filter out everything, and when he did, he still heard a conversation downstairs. It was being a bit loud, hard to filter out even if he didn't really want to eavesdrop.

“I'm gonna tell him if you won't,”  a voice said. A young man with a voice he'd heard before. “By the way, little D is not gonna like the omelets.”

He heard Bruno's voice arguing with this person, about something. He sounded pretty alarmed and upset in the way only Bruno's monotone voice could be. Even if other people couldn't tell, Clark recognized the emotions in that tone. This must be something serious, then. Could it be about him?

He walked into the kitchen, ready to mediate a conflict. Be friendly and smile , he reminded himself. And they'll trust you.

“Hey there! How’s everything? My name is Clark.” He gave a general greeting and nodded subtly at Bruno to serve as a silent, personal greeting. As he returned his gaze to this new person, he held out his hand to him.

“Right, Clark! We've met before,” the young man said with a friendly grin that matched his. “I was actually waiting for you to come down.”

Bruno apparently wasn't a fan of the interaction, if his burning glare was anything to go by. 

“Clark, this is-” 

The young man interrupted Bruno's attempt to introduce him to give his own answer. Clark noted how it was a complete switch from the angry tone he had heard just moments before.

“Please, B. I’m a big boy, I can do my own introductions,” he said, giving Bruno a light-hearted grin. Unlike Bruno, this young man seemed completely at ease. ”My name is Ri-” 

Bruno's severe look wasn't lost on Clark, so he was getting increasingly more concerned about what the two might've been arguing about. He added it to the list of things they needed to talk about.

On his side, Dick reconsidered his plans. Maybe it was true, and he should let Bruce manage this on his own. No matter how bad Bruce had messed up, he couldn't keep trying to fix it himself.

Besides, what was the chance something this hilarious happened? It would be hilarious if he played along. Clark probably wouldn't recognize him, since he was more of a local New Jersey celebrity, not as worldwide as Bruce Wayne.

“-cardo,” he finished.  He also concealed his slip up better than Bruce had, with confidence and assertiveness. “Ricardo Tapia. But you can call me Ric. Nightwing, at your service.”

Bruno seemed to subtly deflate after Dick pronounced the name. Clark could interpret it in more than one way, but deducting from the context, it was probably defeat. Dick knew it was relief because he had a very different context.

“Don’t mind him,” Ric added, gesturing to Bruce. “He's just frustrated because he didn't want me to reveal my name.” He carefully designed his words and inflection, regulating it to the perfect point to make them genuine despite lying with all his teeth. “You know how he is with secret identities, but I can make my own decisions, isn't that right? ” 

Bruno grumbled something unintelligible, but it could be universally interpreted as acceptance. Clark could understand the worry. More or less. He didn't have children himself, but he imagined he'd be similarly worried in that scenario. If that distrust would extend to his partner of four years and best friend for even more than that, he wasn't sure. He erased that from the list to talk about later and added it to the list of things to reassure Bruno about later. And maybe get some reassurance himself.

“I'm going to wake the kids up,” Ric said before the silence could be filled by anyone else. “You should whip up some Masoob for little D.” And with that, he left the kitchen.

After a moment of silence, Bruno spoke up again. “I’m sorry about him. Kids,” he said tiredly.

“It's alright, Bruno,” Clark said with a soft smile and came up to him to place a kiss on his forehead. “Can I help with anything?”

Bruno relaxed as he and Clark were left alone to share a bit of affection. Clearly the discussion with Ric had left him a bit affected. 

“Well, if you could look up a Masoob recipe, I would appreciate that a lot,” Bruno answered with a half smile.

“On it,” Clark said and got to work. He watched as Bruno moved about the kitchen, preparing something that seemed to be liquid concrete and deduced it was a protein shake.

“Did you sleep well?” Bruno asked him as he sipped his yellowish liquid concrete.

“Yes, thank you,” Clark answered with a soft smile. “I always sleep great when I'm with you.”

Bruce allowed himself a soft smile at that.

“How about you?” Clark asked him back. Bruno shrugged: m ore or less. “May I?” He reached out to the fridge door. Bruno nodded: g o ahead.

The kids came down, herded down the stairs by Ric. They sat down at the dining table, talking about last night's patrol.

Bruno ran the omelet plates through the microwave to warm them up and took them to the table while Clark still got ingredients for the masoob from the fridge, a nice gesture from him. He placed a plate in front of every member of the family sitting at the table. 

“And the masoob?” Dick asked with a raised eyebrow once he saw Bruno place the omelet in front of Damian. 

“In process,” Bruce replied.

“I can eat what I'm given,” Damian argued stiffly. He clearly wasn't glad to vouch for eating something he didn't like. 

“But there's no need,” Dick said, taking the plate away despite Damian's protestations. “Bruno can eat it.”

Damian seemed conflicted about that. On one hand, he could avoid eating it, and on the other, his father had cooked it for him. Naturally, he had to eat it.

“No. I'll eat it,” he insisted, and then looked away at the narrowed eyes Dick gave him. Shh and let me accommodate you.

Bruce, in the meantime, returned to the kitchen to retrieve the fruit he hadn't sliced (apples can be eaten whole, I guess), and was horrified to find Clark cooking (honestly, it was Bruce’s own fault for not telling Clark to sit down to eat).

“Clark, what are you doing?” He asked, taking long rushed steps to Clark’s side.

“Masoob,” the other responded. “Like you asked.”

Bruce started to panic internally, even if his body didn't show any sign of it. He didn't want Clark working when he was a guest. What opinion would Clark have of him for that? Alfred had told him multiple times that was extremely rude-

“No, I asked you to look the recipe up,” Bruno said. “I can cook for my own family. You should sit down and have breakfast. You have work later and I don't want you to be late.” 

Clark was a bit taken aback. He didn't mean to imply Bruno couldn't cook for his own family. Maybe he did go a bit far when he started cooking. It was true that when Batman have an order, he wanted you to do that, nothing more and nothing less, but this time it wasn't an order from Batman, it was a request from Bruno. He did expect it to be a bit different.

“Sorry. I guess I misunderstood,” he apologized. “If you say so, then I'll go have breakfast.” He leaned in and kissed Bruno's forehead again. “But don't take long to join.”

Bruno nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.” He paused. “Would you help me take the apples to the table, please? I heard children need fruit in their diet, so I'm trying it out,” he said, carefully adding playfulness to his tone.

“Sure.” Clark grinned. He picked up the washed apples, one for each person at the table, and headed out of the kitchen. What a curious order to serve breakfast as.

Upon seeing him, the conversations the kids were having died down. “Ah, you’re still here,” Daniel pointed out mindfully, and he nodded in confirmation. 

“Yes, I'm still here, but not for much longer, don’t worry. Sorry for interfering,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice, as he sat down. Daniel seemed to approve of that comment and started eating the apple.

“Oh, please, you’re not any bother,” Ric said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don't mind Dani.”

“Yeah, you have nothing to apologize about,” Tony added. “Actually, we should be apologizing to you. I’m actually sorry you had to come the exact day Bruno has to make breakfast. Usually gramps makes a way better one.” He put a hand over his mouth to giggle with a mouthful of omelet. Clark deduced he meant Robert. “At least it’s edible today.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle at the alliance the kids seemed to have formed with the purpose of annoying their father, except maybe for the youngest, who watched more than participated. It was cute, and he felt fortunate to see it happen.

Bruno came out of the kitchen announcing masoob and Daniel’s eyes widened with eagerness. As soon as the plate was put in front of him, the kid started eating as quickly and politely as possible. He was much like Bruno, showing interest in subtle ways. 

“Do the two of you go to the same school?” Clark asked Tony and Daniel. 

“No,” Tony answered, shaking his head. “I go to Gotham Academy. Daniel is homeschooled.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Clark was hit with yet another thing he didn’t know, and he just wanted to know more. He thought Gotham Academy was pretty exclusive. Even for people from the outside who didn’t know a lot about Gotham, he knew those Academies were usually reserved for rich kids. Don’t get him wrong, Bruno and his family didn’t live badly, but…

As if he was sensing his confusion, Bruno spoke up. “Yes, we’re really fortunate. Wayne Enterprises subsidizes education for children of employees,” he explained. “Daniel is just a bit of a special case…”

Clark listened to Bruno intently. He was learning about Bruno’s family, even if Bruno was over-explaining some things. He was used to it, Bruno often explained everything so there was no space left for doubts. The kids plus Ric held their own conversation while Bruno and Clark spoke.

“By the way,” Ric said. “Doesn’t the bus get here in fifteen minutes?” He checked his phone to reveal 6:34 as the time. 

Duke froze. He hadn’t considered that he would have to take the bus. Alfred wasn’t there to drive him in the Grand Cherokee and get going at 7:10 to arrive in 20 minutes, exactly at 7:30. The bus would take way longer, of course. It’s not like he had never taken the bus, but the comfort of being driven around in a luxury car had grown on him.

“Right, I gotta go!” Tony exclaimed, then he picked up his dirty dishes and tossed them in the sink with barely enough finesse to not break them and ran upstairs to take a shower. By some godly miracle, he was done by 6:47, or was he?

He ran down the stairs, basically skipping the last steps and called out. “Bruno!” He sounded impatient.  He had his backpack, his uniform, his shoes, even if a bit messy. The only thing left undone was his tie, which he still had in his hand.

Bruno stood up, ready for an emergency, but Tony’s next request threw him off. 

“I still don’t get how to tie a tie,” Tony declared. “Please, help.”

Bruno nodded and went up to the teen, taking the tie from his hands. “Sure, alright. It goes like this…” He had everything under control.

Or did he?

Tony just looked at Bruno with an intense glare when the knot ended up crooked, loose and looking more like a bow tie made from spaghetti. Ric didn’t wait a moment to intervene.

“No, no, it’s like this,” he said, undoing Bruno’s pitiful knot and redoing it. The result wasn’t much different.

“No way none of you know how to tie a tie,” Tony accused them.

“I thought you had to wear ties for work every day?” Bruno accused Ric.

“Mine are clip-on. What am I supposed to know about tying them?” Ric replied defensively. 

“Make way! I know how to!” Daniel intervened and tried redoing the knot himself. It had a bit more shape than the last attempts, but it was still, in essence, a sad spaghetti knot. “I guess you will just have to suffer the consequences, Warren,” Daniel declared and returned to his seat at the table. 

“6:52, B!” Ric exclaimed. “The bus is outside!”

Clark watched the encounter with quiet amusement. It was a bit funny watching them all unable to do a simple task. He interrupted Ric’s and Bruno’s discussion to ask Tony, “how do you normally get it done?”

“Usually gramps get it done for me,” Tony admitted, looking away. “I’ve been trying to learn but it doesn’t stick.”

Clark nodded and stepped closer. “May I?” 

The whole room went silent as Clark put the tie around Tony’s neck and tied it, like all of them were expecting something to go terribly wrong, but Clark had to wear ties to work every day, and they weren’t clip op or pre-tied. In less than a minute, he had it done.

“Crisis averted,” he announced and smiled at the group.

“Thank you! It’s great to see someone competent in this house. Bye!” Tony said as he ran out the door. Clark smiled with satisfaction.

“Well, now that the crisis is averted,” Ric said, allowing himself a yawn as he stretched, “I’m going to bed. I stayed up all night and haven’t caught a single moment of sleep.” He patted Bruno’s shoulder. “I’m gonna use your bed. I hope I don’t find it messy. ”

“Ric-” Bruce grunted, but before he could scold Dick for insinuating in front of Damian, he was gone like the wind. 

Damian was picking up the plates, but Bruce stopped him. “I’ll do it. You go up and study,” he ordered him. The kid, who had no actual intention of studying so early, also left and disappeared on the second floor.

Once again, it was just the two of them. Clark spoke first. “How come you don’t know how to tie a tie?” He asked teasingly. 

Bruno let out a huff, which was an equivalent of laughter. “I haven’t worn a tie for work in years. I guess the knowledge didn’t stick.”

“You don’t wear a tie for work?” Clark inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“No. With Bruce Wayne making decisions, the dress code has always been… lenient,” Bruno explained, looking away. With how frequently he avoided eye contact, it couldn’t be taken as an indicator that he was lying, but he was lying, with all his titanium white teeth.

»”Thank you a lot,” he told Clark. “It would’ve been worse if you hadn’t been here. The last thing we need is to get a call from the school because they dress-coded my son.”

“Hey, I’m glad I could help,” Clark replied. “And I think I’m integrating seamlessly, don’t you think?” He added with a joking tone.

“Yes,” Bruno confirmed. “You have a talent for that kind of thing.” 

»”How long until you have to go?” Bruno asked. Even when he had been so stressed in the last 24 hours, he still didn’t want Clark to go. As much as he had wished the nightmare of pretending would end quickly, he realized it hadn’t been nearly enough time.

Clark checked his watch. “I have to go in 23 minutes,” he said. He didn’t want to go either, but he was already thinking that they'd meet later for monitor duty. That brought a smile to his face, despite everything. 

“... Wouldn’t you like a cup of coffee?” Bruno asked. 

“Won’t it be too much trouble?” Clark asked tentatively, coming closer to Bruno. 

“No trouble at all. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“After you.”

Chapter Text

Bruce knows how to use a coffee machine, fortunately. He’s fine, he doesn’t need a butler to brew him coffee every day. He’s a perfectly functional adult when he needs to be. Not that he likes it. 

Still, he’s pleased with the little atmosphere created in the kitchen, him and Clark sipping coffee peacefully in a very comfortable silence, leaning on the kitchen isle side by side. It felt domestic in a way he had experienced very few times. He hadn’t known how to appreciate it then, as it was overshadowed by the overwhelming manor he returned to almost every night. He probably wouldn’t have these moments ever again, his lifestyle doesn’t make space for them, and once his only anchor to normalcy, Clark, realizes everything is fake, that hope would finally scurry away from him like sand between fingers. 

What a talent he had for turning happy thoughts to fatalistic ones. 

This thin veil of melancholy that draped over him wasn’t lost on Clark and worried him. It wasn’t abnormal to find Batman in a quiet or serious state, but it was rare to see him straight up sad. The only thing Clark thought that could’ve caused it was his own presence.

Think of it. The only thing that changed was that he was around. He was inserting himself in Bruno’s life and maybe Bruno wasn’t ready. What could he do? Should he give him more space afterwards? 

No, Clark, think, he thought to himself. You are jumping to conclusions. You need to be 100% sure of what’s happening, or else you will end up pushing him away. You have a mouth, use it! 

No! Not like that! Use it to communicate!

“You have a lovely family,” Clark told Bruno with a soft smile. “I’m very happy to have met them.”

Bruno nodded, a soft smile drawn on his lips. “I’m also glad you could meet them. They are very important to me.”

“I can tell.” Clark’s heart warmed at that. For that smile, he wanted to make things right.

»”Bruno, are you alright?” Clark finally asked, his voice turning serious. Bruno’s back straightened. 

“What do you mean, Clark?” He asked, his head tilting slightly to the side.

“I mean that…” Clark paused for a moment to think of the right words to say. “Well… I think that since we met yesterday, you’ve been a bit… off.”

There, he said it. He needed to elaborate because he wasn’t liking Bruce’s body language at all. The tension was noticeable in Bruno’s stance. Not in a fearful way at all, but in the way he looked when he was about to face an opponent much more powerful than him. Clark could tell he’d struck a nerve. Maybe he’d struck an open wound, because the eyes Bruno was giving him made him want to back down. He didn’t want to feel like the opponent in this situation, but if he conceded first, then Bruno wouldn’t open up.

“Look, I just want to make sure you’re alright. I worry,” Clark admitted. “If there’s something I can do, then I want to do it, and if there’s anything you want to talk about, I want to listen.”

He reached out to take Bruno’s hand in his, a quiet gesture that he hoped would be reassuring.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

Even if he had tried to act normal, Bruno Díaz wasn’t an act he had practiced or planned, it wasn’t one of his normal undercover jobs, where he’d face mafia leaders, assassins, people he definitely couldn’t show any weakness in front of; this was Clark, who knew him like very few people in the world knew him. They’d worked alongside each other for so many years. Revealing names was basically a formality at this point.

But then why was he going so far to hide it anyway?

Bruno conceded first, even if reluctantly. That was a good sign for Clark.

“I’m alright,” he said with a nod. “As alright as I can be. It's just…” He hesitated for a moment. “There are a lot of things in my mind.” 

Bruce could tell that Clark wasn’t taking that as an answer, judging by the rigid stance and expression he was giving him.

“Could you tell me?” Clark asked, prompting Bruce to continue.

After thinking for a microsecond, Bruce came to a conclusion. Maybe he didn’t have to lie at all.

It wouldn’t be easy for him to tell the truth. Usually, it had to be slowly and painfully coaxed out of him. Saying it so suddenly felt like prying it harshly from the bottom of his gut. But it would be better in the long run, he knew. It would solidify this Bruno Díaz persona, turn it into the same as Brucie Wayne or Batman, a mask that he slid in and out from without even thinking, like a perfectly fitted suit.

“I know I’ve been uneasy,” he started saying. “There’s always some stress in my life due to work, and then vigilantism. It’s been particularly stressful with the project and a sudden wave of Joker sympathizers… And I guess the identity reveal added to that.”

»”I don’t mean to justify anything. I apologize if I made you feel unwelcome,” Bruno added. Not only Clark could notice things. “I guess I didn’t know what to expect in that moment and panicked a bit. I didn’t know what had to change and what could stay the same.”

Clark was trying to decipher every word, every microexpression, and trying to find the right meaning, but it all came back to his fault. But Bruno surely couldn't mean that.

“What do you mean?” He asked, his voice going quieter, letting slight confusion show.

“I mean that… I wasn't expecting things to change after revealing my secret identity, but it's inevitable.” Bruce wasn't sure how to explain himself. It wasn't often that it happened, but when it happened, he often ended up ruining it faster than if he hadn't tried to explain at all. “I wasn't sure if I should act differently, talk differently. The truth is that I wanted to impress you, but I don't think I can do that.”

There, he said it. And he technically didn't lie. He didn't feel proud to show Clark the side of him that was Gotham's only and most brainless billionaire. He didn't feel prepared for the way Clark’s view of him would change after revealing he’s Bruce Wayne. He had created that persona to navigate the world, and it hadn’t gone all wrong, but it still wasn’t someone anyone would want to date for other than fame or money. He felt lonelier acting out that character than with any other mask. Can you blame him for not wanting Clark to associate that with him?

Meanwhile, Clark’s heart was breaking. He could understand the insecurity, but he never felt disappointed at meeting Bruno. He felt bad that something that made him so happy had been such a burden on the shoulders of the person he loved. 

Even if he couldn’t understand, he needed to listen. That’s what a good boyfriend does.

At least Bruno was communicating. It was something the two had to work on for a few years before getting to this point. Clark was optimistic about that. 

“I see…” Clark said with a sigh. He squeezed Bruno’s hand gently. “I want to tell you that first of all, you don’t need to impress me, you don’t need to impress anyone, but even if there’s no need, you’ve impressed me.”

»”I think that you have a great job, a great family, a great house… and you’re great.” He leaned in and kissed Bruno’s lips softly. “No matter what, you’re still the best boyfriend I could ask for. I know how you are, and you don’t have to change that for any reason. I love you just as you are.”

Well, that gave Bruce a bit of comfort, but it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because Clark couldn’t fully mean something that he didn’t fully know about. It didn’t help him at all.

“Thank you, Clark…” He said, leaning into an embrace just to hide his face against Clark’s shoulder. He didn’t want to be seen at the moment, just hide until everything fixed itself magically.

The time for Clark’s departure was approaching quickly, and when just a few minutes were left, Bruno offered to call a taxi for him. It was all very nice, very domestic. Bruce felt like a househusband saying goodbye his working husband as he saw the taxi driving away. That made him huff with amusement. At least now he could call Alfred to pick him and the kids up and take them back to the manor, take a shower in his own bathroom, with his expensive shampoo and soap and review all the things he must’ve taken care off last night instead of getting lost in the sky that Clark’s blue eyes contained.

[…]

Later that night, the two met again at the Watchtower for monitor duty. It was a blissful moment for Bruce. He could forget about the chaos that had been the last 36 hours and just do a task that he knew every little detail about and he could control perfectly.

Meanwhile, Clark was still chewing on a thought. He was considering all the possibilities, all the contingency plans, everything down to the last microsecond, and it seemed like a good plan. He just hoped he didn’t look rude inviting himself over to Bruno's city.

“Hey…” He said tentatively, snapping Batman out of his focus. “I was just wondering…”

Batman, without looking at him directly, nodded, prompting him to continue.

“I don’t know if I could possibly come over for lunch someday? I mean… I know you must be busy, but I want to spend more time with you,” he explained. “I just thought that lunch could be the best time to not interfere with your normal schedule or your patrol, and Gotham would be the best city because then the two of us would be able to watch out for whatever happens in our cities in case of an emergency, and I think you’d be more comfortable in Gotham than Metropolis either way, and this is all because…”

»”Well, I feel like we didn’t have enough time.” Clark’s smile as he said that was slight, but visibly hopeful. “I still want to do more things with you.” 

Batman wanted to jump into the vacuum of space when Clark said that.

Sure, maybe if it was only lunch, then it wouldn’t be hard. At least it would be just lunch. He could do Bruno Díaz for two hours, maybe three. He just needed to find some free time, because apparently, Clark thought he had more than he actually did. How much free time are normal people supposed to have again? He weighed the pros and cons in his mind for a second, but then he thought...

Maybe lunch with his boyfriend was the only pro he needed and it outweighed most of the cons. 

“I think it’s a solid plan,” Batman said. “I am available on Friday of next week, if that suits you.”

And like that, another date was planned.

Damn, this dating thing was more exhausting than Bruce thought it would be.

Chapter Text

The day had arrived and Bruce feared not making it to the date. His mission for the day had gotten a bit complicated and at the moment, he was surrounded by bloodthirsty vipers in a pit forsaken by every god out there:

He was in a WE executives meeting, discussing the board’s donations for the new Wayne Foundation project. 

As he listened to some manager elected by random shareholders try to reduce the amount again, Bruce clenched his fists under the table. He knew the guy could do better than 30K, he knew his salary and it was enough to make 30K seem like pocket change. Bruce wasn't going to let this pass. Think of the kids, goddamnit!

Very obviously, the other board members were tired of the meeting already. They had already agreed to the amount of 50K each, and just this guy was holding everyone back by not giving Brucie what he wanted. It just had to be a new guy who didn't know how Bruce was borderline obsessive when it came to the Foundation. Bruce could tell the secretary was about to pounce on the guy if he dared reduce the offer again.

The past week had been a bit too stressful. Bruce could admit this new initiative was a bit ambitious on itself, pretentious even. Aiming to benefit the environment, cancer research centers and orphanages simultaneously with a single self-sufficient project was something not everyone was convinced by. Selling it to everyone while also planning future fundraisers and negotiating donations, while also investigating what seemed to be a new Joker cult brewing some kind of plan. He had Orphan and Spoiler working on it while he was busy. The truth is that he was also aching to finish the meeting because the need to actively monitor them (and make sure they're safe) was eating away at him.

It was not a micromanagement problem, like Dick had said. He was worried. And rightfully so! He would prove that he trusted his family by not canceling his date. He was tempted to do it, but Clark was probably already in Gotham. He'd be an asshole if he canceled at the last minute. 

At least this time he was ready. He was armed with an unimpressive change of clothes and the most effective makeup remover in the market. The date would be in a reasonably nice cafe, one that didn’t have any desserts with gold leaf on them but reasonably good coffee, with enough food options and that Bruce had tried beforehand so he’ll know what to order instead of spending 40 minutes analyzing the menu to choose something he won’t regret ordering after the first bite. He was practically tasting the salad already. His stomach was rumbling so loud he hoped no one had heard it. He hadn’t had breakfast and dismissed it because he didn’t feel hungry. He checked his watch. At this pace, the meeting would end at midnight.

Bruce didn’t have the energy to fix his face and everyone in the room was noticing. When the guy finished speaking, it was finally Bruce’s turn.

“Look, Michael, I understand your point of view perfectly, I just can’t bring myself to share it,” he said. His voice was surprisingly polite despite his previous expression. He consciously lifted his eyebrows a slight bit to make himself seem a bit more open, his eyes slightly wider to seem interested, his fingers intertwined on top of the table lazily to seem relaxed. He had his act perfected. “I know that charity initiatives are not everyone’s cup of tea, which I found a bit ridiculous.” The corner of his lips curled up to form a slight amused smile. “There’s always the same disagreement. If that is your final offer, then I suppose I will have to look for someone else who will understand my point of view.”

The realization dawned on Michael slowly, complemented by the rest of the board’s looks of pity. He didn’t want to get replaced, so he mumbled some half-hearted agreement and signed the check. 

Bruce’s smirk grew slightly. His demeanor was still calm and relaxed, but he had gotten his point across. He had learned through his many years of experience that not everyone can be convinced out of pure logic and the empathy of their hearts, so he had to resort to other methods. The shareholders liked him enough. With a small dinner in the most expensive restaurant in town and with a lot of wine, he could convince them to replace that director. 

Now the meeting was closing up and, oh surprise, he’s running late again. 

[...]

Clark had left work early that day with Perry's permission, changed into comfortable clothes and gotten on a train to Gotham City. The way there was a good hour with the cheapest option, but he appreciated moments like this where he could just sit there and wait. The train was also effective enough at muffling sounds from outside to give Clark the illusion of silence.

He tried to take advantage of the time to catch up on some reading, but he found himself distracted by something else.

He couldn't stop thinking of the noise he heard that morning in Bruno’s house. He had forgotten to mention it in favor of the conversation they had. Bruno probably didn't hear it due to his lack of super hearing, but it created a suspicious situation. It would mean someone in the neighborhood had a plan that required that Superman didn't hear it. He x-rayed a 5 km radius of the ground to see if there were any hidden spaces underneath the houses to just find ordinary basements, nothing particularly suspicious. 

Of course, there was also the possibility that it was Bruno who was having the conversation he didn't want Clark to hear.

Which would be completely ridiculous because it was a conversation with Nightwing, his son. What could possibly require blocking his hearing? 

Clark wasn't stupid. He knew that Bruno was not telling the whole truth. It felt like the truth, but there was something missing. It was…

It was particularly easy to get it out of him. As much as Clark wanted to believe Bruno was more comfortable opening up, it was unrealistic. That couldn’t be the explanation.

The worst part is that he didn’t think he could talk to Bruno about it.

Bruno had already lied once, he would probably lie again. It was Clark’s fault for not digging more into it when they were having that conversation. He shouldn’t have relented, but he wanted to trust Bruno that one time. He needed to find out through other means, or else, nothing would be solved.

He just hoped there was some grand evil scheme brewing in some place in Gotham's suburbs, because thinking that Bruno was purposefully hiding something made him anxious, sad and maybe… a bit frustrated as well. 

That’s what he was thinking about the whole way there. His thoughts dispersed when he arrived at the station, the hermetic train doors opened and a million more sounds hit him again. He swore Metropolis wasn’t as noisy as Gotham. For some reason, there were more people yelling, more car honking and way more noise of people dragging their feet. He wondered if Bruno would ever offer to go to Metropolis just for a date. It would be nice to not be the one to step out of his comfort zone for once.

He couldn’t think like this. Goddamnit. 

[...]

“I am so, so sorry,” Bruce said with a sigh as he sat down at the table. Again, everything had been rushed and he probably didn’t remove all the foundation off his face. He didn’t have time to take a shower so when he tried to rearrange his hair, it just ended up looking weird due to half-melted hair gel. He’d have to investigate whatever brand was in the bathroom and why because it wasn’t his one of choice.

Also, knowing that he looked like a sleep deprived zombie made him feel like shit. 

The last week, he had spent more time looking at himself in the mirror without makeup for longer than he ever had and for the first time in a long while, he remembered the feeling of not liking what he saw.

“There’s no problem,” Clark said with a grin. “It’s only seven minutes past the hour.” Bruce still couldn’t understand how Clark didn’t have a problem with such tardiness. 

“You’re too understanding for your own good,” Bruce said with a soft smile. All of his worries melted just a little bit once he reached Clark’s side. He reached out to take Clark’s hand in his.

“Maybe I am, but I have no regrets.” Clark found it fascinating every time Bruno complimented him for something that was completely normal for him. It was adorable. All the time leading up to the meeting, he had been growing tense, but when he saw that smile, how could he ever think something bad of the man he loved?

Bruno’s hand was warm and on top of that, Bruno was not letting go. He looked more comfortable this time as well. Maybe he was becoming a bit more confident and Clark just couldn’t see it before. His heart overpowered his brain and he could only wonder how he ever dared to think the beautiful man in front of him was lying. 

“I’m sorry, still. I was stuck in a meeting,” Bruno explained. “It’s getting a bit hectic in the office lately. Bruce Wayne is having meetings with practically everyone. It almost looks like he has nothing else to do.”

The irony of the joke was just for Bruce to enjoy. He liked toying with self-deprecating insults that nobody understood. Clark was taking it seriously.

“Really? Is Bruce Wayne as insufferable as everyone says?” Clark asked with a small smirk of his own. “I don't truly know. I've mostly watched him from afar.”

“Oh yes, he is…” The two engaged in cheerful chatter, or rather, Clark listened to Bruno’s monologuing. It was the first time Clark saw him like this, and he was intrigued.

Bruce had carefully constructed the story of how he'd tell Clark about his day. Sure, he heard from a friend that heard it from a friend that overheard a conversation that Bruce Wayne had threatened to fire a member of the board for not meeting the donation goal, and how a friend of an acquaintance told him about the new project of the Wayne foundation. He seemed really passionate about it, and Clark didn't interrupt for a single moment. He had expected Bruno to be passionate about these things. He could tell how much he loved Gotham and her people. 

“I know you tell me he’s insufferable, but Bruce Wayne sounds like a good guy,” Clark pointed out. 

Bruce’s expression eased into a light curiosity with a tint of disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying. Sure, Bruce Wayne does dumb things sometimes, but he seems like he has good intentions,” Clark explained. “I have never met him personally, but Cat says great things about him.”

“Cat? You mean Cat Grant?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, expressing a mindful amount of disbelief. What does she say about me? He wondered. He doesn’t remember doing anything particularly remarkable around Cat Grant, not even flirting with her. “Huh, I didn’t expect that.”

Clark confirmed with a nod. “That’s right. But what is it? Another classic case of not liking the owner of the place you work at?” He teased.

Bruce let out a huff of amusement. “It’s not that, I just think that he’s… really fake, you know?” 

Clark’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, and he gave a small nod to prompt Bruno to continue. Bruce wasn’t so sure he wanted to continue with that line of thought.

“I just think… he seems too perfect,” Bruno explained. “Even if he does stupid things, everyone adores him. The way I look at it, it’s… pretty intentional.” Bruno sipped his coffee. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. He must be hiding something.”

“Hmm, I see…” Clark muttered. “If the world’s greatest detective says it, then it must be right. He can’t be worse than Lex Luthor, anyway.”

Bruno shook his head with amusement and sighed. “I’m glad you think that way.” 

A bit confusing for someone like Bruno to say something like that about someone he was just thrashing. Maybe it was just natural competitiveness between the two cities.

“We’ve been talking a lot about Bruce Wayne,” Clark said jokingly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for good gossip, but I also came to Gotham for you, not for Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce’s smile quirked up a bit, but it was due to the sheer irony of that statement. Emotionally, he wasn’t sure how to take it, but rationally, he knew it made sense.

“Yes, I know,” he replied, his thumb brushing over Clark’s knuckles affectionately. He looked at their intertwined hands with longing. “Lately, work is consuming me. My mind is too full of office chaos.”

As Clark nodded to show his understanding, a weird thought came to him. Huh, I thought engineers worked in industrial plants. He’s in an office?

“I know. It happens to everyone,” Clark told him. “Well, I could ask you questions, and you could answer them.”

Bruce was a bit skeptical. To him, it sounded like something middle schoolers would do, but he assumed it was fair. He had some answers prepared in his head already.

“Where did you go to school?”

“Gotham U. At first I wanted to study political science, but taking all the corruption in Gotham into consideration, I thought I’d be better off learning something useful and working independently.”

“What’s your favorite book?”

“I don’t have a single favorite. It’d be between Great Expectations by Charles Dickens or Moby-Dick by Herman Melville.”

“Completely fair.”

Then, Clark hesitated a bit. He wasn’t sure if the next question would be too much. 

“You see… I don’t want to seem invasive or anything. I just… Well…” He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of his next words. 

»”The other day, you mentioned you were adopted,” he said. “Thank you for trusting me with something as personal as that. I just wanted to say that… Well, I’d be happy to listen if you ever want to talk about your adoption story. Just if you want, of course…”

“It’s alright,” Bruno replied, looking at Clark with a soft gaze. “I don’t really mind.”

»”My parents were murdered when I was a kid. A random act of violence, apparently,” he started explaining, his gaze lowering to Clark’s hand holding his for comfort. “An armed robbery went wrong. It happened in front of me. I wouldn’t say I’m over it.” He let out a huff, which could be out of frustration or to indicate that he was making a joke. This time, it might be both. “Robert was a good family friend, so he took me in. It’s still… a big reason why I do what I do,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to go through the same thing as I did, ever again.”

Bruce felt Clark squeeze his hand gently, a silent gesture of support. He appreciated it incommensurably. Once again, the truth had slipped out of him. Maybe it wasn’t right, but he was starting to feel comfortable as Bruno Díaz. He had formed yet another persona to hide behind of, but this one’s purpose was completely different. It was helping him tell the truth. Maybe his plan of keeping up this farce for the rest of his life wasn't that bad. 

And then he looked at Clark’s face and that illusion shattered in a million pieces.

He wasn’t the one to make impulsive decisions, but he had made enough in one single week. One more unplanned desicion would not make the world explode-

“Clark, I need to tell you something…”

Upon hearing that, Clark straightened like a drill sergeant had just yelled at him. Bruce felt something in his heart. So Clark already knew he was hiding something, huh?

Before he could continue, he was interrupted. His WayneTech smartwatch beeped, and the thought that his children were still on a mission jumped back to the front of his mind in less than an instant. 

01-RH to all elements: Op. 23OT04. Sudden activity in sector 6. Requesting reinforcements. Contraband tracked. Possibility of explosives in sector 1, 3, 6, 9, 12.

01-N to all elements: On the way - sector 6.

When had Jason gotten involved? He had not wanted him to be on this precisely for the Joker factor. It was, apparently, too late for that. Dick was involved too, and that caused him more stress than it probably should. 

“We have to go,” he said, his voice dropping to the gravelly and firm tone of Batman which meant there was work to do. Clark was out of his chair in an instant.

Bruno left a couple hundred dollar bills on the table and typed orders on his watch as he exited in the most natural way he could, with Clark following him close behind. 

01-B to all elements: 01-RR to sector 9. 02-S, to sector 3. On my way. 02-O, 01-S, report-

Batman was stressing out in record time. There were too many locations, and it seemed like an operation was already in march. How could they have possibly not figured it out earlier? Everyone had been watching out for explosives like hawks. 

There were six locations. He didn’t have enough children for this. There weren’t enough to form pairs, and letting them go alone was out of the question. Clark could manage one location on his own. They had that bomb defusing seminar for the Justice League the other day. Clark just needed to get up from the floor and-

“Clark!” Bruce exclaimed, stopping on his tracks and kneeling on the floor to check on the now felled kryptonian. 

Clark wasn’t sure what was happening himself. Suddenly, he heard a strident noise that sounded like a million bells were ringing at the same time. His first reflex was to cover his ears with his hands, but he hadn’t been fast enough. The sound made him feel lightheaded, and before he could notice, he was falling to his knees.

Despite his sensitivity, no sound had ever affected him like that. 

01-RH: Too late. Not a bomb. Magical artifacts. 

Magical artifacts indeed, Bruce thought as he held Clark tightly to his chest and watched a magical dome closing over Gotham.

Chapter Text

Stupid and careless , Bruce thought to himself, summarizing his thoughts about the whole thing. First of all, if it had been bombs, he would've never made it on time, and people would've died. He was unprepared and it was unacceptable. Second of all, the greatest team of detectives in the world underestimated the threat and wasn't able to prevent anything. Even from there, Bruce could hear the loud noise of the bridges that connected Gotham to the mainland collapsing under the magic forcefield. Bruce wasn't a religious man, but in that moment, he begged any god who would listen that there weren't many people in those bridges. He knew it was a ridiculous thing to hope for.

Stupid and careless .

01-B to all elements: Assess damage. Engage rescue protocol if necessary.

“Clark!” He called out again, growing more desperate. The fact that Clark seemed to become a slightly bit more alert as the moments passed wasn't helping him feel better. The magic objects must’ve had an effect on him Bruce didn't know anything about. 

He should've studied magic when he could. Stupid and careless-

Chaos was breaking out quickly, mostly by confused people who were getting out of their cars and running. Bruce couldn't blame them. In Gotham, something this weird spelled disaster.

Bruce's heart sunk in his chest. He needed to take everything under control, protect the people of whatever was going to happen. The people of Gotham had nowhere to escape to if the whole city was being attacked.

But the weight of Clark in his arms was anchoring him down. People, including him, often forgot about Clark’s vulnerability to magic. He didn't know what effect this had on him at all.

“Clark, please…” He muttered, holding the Kryptonian as tightly as he could. He didn't know how to help. 

Focus, Bruce. 

He took a deep breath. Clark was alive and still breathing, that had to count for something. He pressed the button in his watch to call the Batmobile. He needed to move fast to be able to save everyone.

As the GPS showed how the autopilot was making its way towards his position, another loud sound made the ground shake. He suppressed the wince.

“Citizens of Gotham, good evening to all,” a voice said, loud enough to hear throughout the whole city, coming from every point at once, probably of magical origin as well. “Congratulations! You have been selected to participate in the largest hostage situation in history!”

Bruce rolled his eyes. He hated when people tried to imitate the Joker, trying to get their interpretations to instill as much anxiety as the Joker does, but sounding more like an overacted drama dialog from a high school Shakespeare play. 

“ We are the Sons of Joker. ” Bruce wanted to throw up. “Listen very well because we're not going to play nice.”

“Bruno…?” A weak voice called from under him. Bruce barely heard it over the booming voice. 

“We demand the Joker’s release from that horrible prison! If the Joker isn't released from Arkham in the next 72 hours, we're going to flood Gotham with Joker toxin, and nobody will have anywhere to run!”

Bruce was already on his feet, pulling Clark up with inhuman strength that he didn't know he had. He could hear the distinct roar of the Batmobile's engine getting closer. He had to look for a secluded area to change.

One of these days he'd invent nanotech just to save himself the trouble of changing into the armor.

He had dragged Clark in his arms, going unnoticed amidst the people running. He was thinking of everything already. Probably some knock off Joker toxin obtained from the black market. The possibility was there that it wasn't as effective, just as the possibility that it would be much worse.

[...]

Clark was vaguely aware of the world around him, but he hadn't gotten this dizzying effect from anything else than kryptonite. It hadn't been. There was truly someone else who had a contingency prepared for Superman. 

He could feel it wearing off, though. The ringing in his ear faded, replaced by panicked cries of people around him and one single voice. Clark! Clark, please!

He willed himself to react. With his inhuman strength, he opened his eyelids and tried to get back up, but it must've taken him more than he thought because when he was finally up and alert again, he was in Bruno’s arms, hidden away in some dark alley.

Bruno was talking away, probably giving out orders through his comms. Slowly, he started hearing what was happening more clearly.

“... Oracle, play the lockdown protocol video on every civilian TV and every radio station. Sector 1 and 2, report.”

“Collapse of buildings, no casualties yet, 10 injured and counting.”

“Sector 5 and 6.”

“Disturbed tide. No casualties yet.”

Clark pushed himself up and felt an almost imperceptible weight in his chest. He looked down and found Bruno's hand pressing a hand sun lamp to his chest, his knuckles turning white. Clark’s little reaction didn't go unnoticed by Bruce. Before he said anything, he spoke.

“It's okay, I'm fine,” Clark said. “What…”

Bruno’s eyes widened, he had a surprised expression on his face that meant relief. 

“Superman,” he said in his deep, raspy Batman voice. “Reach the bridges of the 31st and then the 124th. Rescue needed.” 

Oh. So it was a moment of serious orders. He could do that. Clark was in his suit in a second and flying off. 

Bruce felt slightly annoyed at having to pick up the clothes from the floor, but he did and got in the Batmobile. He was going to hunt down those Sons of a Bitch.

[...]

All citizens of Gotham, stay calm and follow the lockdown protocol. Please avoid raiding stores. Remember to change the filters of your gas masks, and if you or someone in your family do not have a gas mask, orderly approach  your closest Wayne Enterprises office to get one for free, in all sizes, from children to adults-

The sound of Oracle’s voice sounded in every radio station, in every device, as the first window of a 7/11 was smashed.

[...]

Bruce’s priority was to deactivate the spell that kept the city trapped. The city wasn't going to negotiate with terrorists, so the people needed a way to escape in case the worst happened. 

There were multiple trucks belonging to this gang moving at the same time, but he sent Red Hood, Nightwing and Red Robin for the others. He was chasing the most suspicious one through narrow streets, the one most likely to contain a catalyst for the spell and if not, the leaders of the gang.

Bruce kept receiving updates from the rest of his children. No injuries so far.Still, the possibility that Clark’s condition was worse than it seemed weighed on his chest, filling it with anxiety of unresolved business. Did Clark even have his communicator with him? He had super hearing, which meant he had the bad habit of not wearing his comm constantly. He couldn't receive updates about Clark’s condition. 

He had slipped into his Batman mask as effortlessly as pulling a silk glove om. He had given out an order and Clark had trusted him like many times before. The two were a well-oiled machine, but maybe he shouldn't have let himself get carried away.

Is that how you treat the man you love? What a terrible boyfriend you are-

He shot projectiles to the truck in front of him, which would've landed perfectly on the wheels if the truck hadn't been protected with some kind of magical shield. That made things complicated. It's not like he hadn't dealt with magic before, but he couldn't pull something out of his utility belt and fix everything. The amulets he carried to protect himself from curses or magical attacks couldn't do much about purely defensive incantations. He had to mark a reminder to fix that hole in his strategy after everything was over. 

The trackers weren't sticking. There seemed to be no weakness in their magical defenses, and whatever spells they were throwing at him were actually delaying the Batmobile. He'd have to look for other ways.

He swerved violently, heading to a parallel street. He'd be in front of them by the end of the block. 

He had 1.5 seconds to do this. If they had been nearing 110 kmph, he had to speed up to 140. The engine roared deafeningly. He reached the end of the block first and turned to get back to the street where the truck was. He braked right in front of them and activated the Batmobile's anchors, leaving him perfect time (0.5 seconds) to jump out of the car.

The car’s anchors drilled into the ground as Bruce landed and just 0.2 seconds later, the truck hit the Batmobile, but just like when an unstoppable force hits an immovable object, the truck was sent flying over the batmobile and flipped over, landing upside down and bouncing on the shield a couple times before the magic flickered out.

It was broad daylight, but Gotham always had shadows for him to hide in. He moved discreetly and silently, looking out for hostiles he approached the truck. 

“Truck stopped,” he tapped out in his comm, using Morse code to avoid talking. People people started pouring out of the vehicle. “Thee hostiles and counting. Assault weapons.”

»”Four.”

»”Five.”

»”Seven.”

»”Eight.”

»”Eleven.”

»”Fourteen.”

Those seemed to be all, looking out for Batman with AK-47’s ready, apparently uninjured.

His thoughts of how to take them down one by one were interrupted by Tim’s loud voice in his comm. “For god’s sake, can someone aide Batman? Because he's not going to ask.”

Bruce suppressed the urge to click his tongue with annoyance. He was well aware going one to 14 wasn't a great bet, but he had to do it, for his city, for him family, he'd sacrifice everything, and he'd do it even if it was the last thing he did-

“I can almost hear your self sacrificing thoughts from here. Batman, do not take on fourteen hostiles alone. Repeat. Do not fight alone.”

“02-Orphan here. On the way. T minus 2 minutes.”

But they were getting away. Bruce saw one of them holding a metal briefcase and running, the rest of the team following. He was right.

Just as he stepped out of the shadows, a flash of red and blue.

[...]

Clark had seen worse things in his life, but death was always bleak in Clark’s eyes. He hadn't gotten there in time to save everyone, but he couldn't let that hold him back from saving the people that were still holding on. 

He hadn't been able to reach the people on the other side, much to his frustration. His super strength hadn't been able to break through the magical barrier. Feeling so utterly helpless to help someone made him want to vomit.

The people were more wary of him than of the other local vigilantes. He could recognize he was an outsider, so he was thankful that the people were willing to listen to his instructions. He was watching over as the people turned back to the city, and then he heard it.

“Batman, do not take on fourteen hostiles alone. Repeat. Do not fight alone.”

He headed out, looking for Bruno through the city at almost supersonic speed. He was being distracted by the sounds of the police dealing with the raiders all around the place. He just had to hope no shots would be fired by any parties.

And then he saw him in all his vigilante glory. His boyfriend, ready to step into a fight that would most certainly get him another bullet in his body. Sometimes it was endearing, but this time, he was glad he got there before any of the assault rifles present were fired at Batman.

“Going somewhere, gentlemen?” He asked with a raised eyebrow as he blocked the way. He heard an almost imperceptible huff from Bruno and that made him grin.

As he expected, all the answer he got was a sudden rain of bullets in his direction. He dodged some, but he was confident enough to let some hit him.

He went against the closest hostile, grabbing the weapon and sending the man flying backwards with a kick. He crushed the weapon with his bare hands. Then he heard, over the cacophony of bullets, a call.

“Superman, from your left!” 

He heard it just in time to dodge a purple bolt of energy directed right to his face. That was strange. He hadn't noticed it at all. Batman, who had been taking on the hostiles that were too distracted with Superman, had warned him. Unfortunately, the trail of unconscious goons was hard to miss, and they quickly discovered Batman’s pattern. Maybe quicker that they should've.

This gang kept demonstrating to be smarter than a Joker cult would usually be while being equally unpredictable, and Bruce could tell Superman was not at his 100%. Bruce felt like he was losing control of the situation, despite efficiently knocking out goon after goon. Somehow, it felt like they were getting back up.

He had calculated he'd burn two of his four amulets in this confrontation in case there were magical attacks, but now he wasn't so sure. There was still one long minute before Cass arrived and there. 

There were four attackers on the side holding strange magic staffs, surrounding the one with the briefcase. Apparently, they didn't stop at the shield spells, they had a whole magical arsenal. He needed to reach them. 

Bruce was pretty sure he'd be fine, he had four magical amulets to burn through in case any of those reached him, but Clark…

Clark’s priority wasn't to dodge most of the time. The man was invulnerable, for god’s sake, and nobody took a self-sacrificing complex seriously when the person in question was indestructible. Bruce might be guilty of that as well. It would be better if he directed the attention of those attackers towards himself.

He was hitting more aggressively, enough to keep the hostiles down for a bit longer and get closer to the objective. Dodging bullets and magical attacks at the same time was consuming precious time and energy, so when he saw the purple bolt coming towards him, he was ready to take it on head first.

Clark hadn't really gotten the memo. When he saw the attack coming right at his boyfriend, he left everything and stepped in front of Batman, taking the hit right on the chest.

Time froze for a moment. Bruce hadn't been paralyzed in his Batman persona for a very long time. Batman was meant to always be able to spring into action, no matter the shock or the risk. Now he was frozen.

But Clark seemed fine. The hit didn't knock him down. Just any second, he'd turn around and grin at Bruce to then continue kicking ass.

But then came the strangled and choking sounds. Bruce saw everything in slow motion as Superman fell to his knees.

There was a sudden commotion. Shocked screeches from the people surrounding him pierced his ears. They were surprised that they, of all people, had managed to hurt Superman.

Clark was gasping for air, almost desperately so. Bruce hadn't yet seen his face, but he only guessed what it was like. Clark still hadn’t gotten up. They were sitting ducks. Bruce could see it in their expressions. The goons that were still left standing didn't even have to look at each other to have the same thought. They hurt Superman. They can kill Superman.

Bruce would have none of that.

He dragged Clark behind the closest car just as the gang resumed fire, and what he saw made him want to vomit. Clark was pale as paper, a gush of blood dripping down his chin from his mouth. His eyes were following Bruce’s, wide with panic and terror. 

Clark hadn't expected to feel so much pain for that hit. He was well aware of his vulnerabilities, but his pain perception was completely distorted. His body wasn't usually damaged enough to cause him pain. No matter how he was hit, he didn't feel a pinch. 

So, in the moments he did feel pain, he felt like he was dying. He coughed and more blood came out of his mouth. He felt dizzy with the taste and the sight of it dripping down onto his chest. Even if he tried to move, he couldn't stand the pain. He couldn't even scream or cry out because his instincts told him he’d choke on his own blood if he tried.

His surroundings were turning into a blur around him. He was starting to feel really cold, and knew it was probably his panic messing with his head. He wasn't used to seeing his own blood. He'd be fine. He just had to keep breathing. He hadn't even seen Batman’s hands shaking, stained with his blood.

Bruce wanted to hurt. He wanted to attack indiscriminately. He wanted to maul, and maybe that was what he should be doing.

He requested all possible reinforcements, whoever could help his boyfriend, and meanwhile, he was going to make them pay.

He started hitting to incapacitate. This time, no matter what adrenaline coursed through their veins or what twisted spell kept them conscious and moving, they weren't getting back up. 

His body was moving on its own. Muscle memory was doing the fighting for him, encouraged by the crack of bones under his boot. That allowed him to focus on mercy.

The instinct had been instilled in him ever since he trained in the league of assassins, almost three decades ago. The instinct of identifying every vertebrae vulnerable to snap and every artery exposed to slice. Such information popped in his mind like intrusive thoughts, and suppressing it was sometimes worse than just letting them pass.

He could, but he won't. It reminded him that had the power to decide, and he chose not to, even if that choice weighed on him more than anything in the world. 

Upon seeing that the Bat was losing it, the gang realized they might not hold the advantage this time. Half of their weapons were unusable, courtesy of Superman, and targeting the kryptonian had obviously been the wrong choice, because now Batman was going ballistic. Then Orphan showed up. 

“Nah, let's get outta here.”

The few goons that could still move regrouped and chanted an incantation. Bruce and Cass tried to catch up to them, but before they reached them, the small group was gone in a flash of blinding light. 

There was nothing more than silence. For a second, Bruce felt like he had suddenly become deaf. It was interrupted by a beep in his ear. 01-Agent A. T minus 90 seconds.

Chapter Text

“Oracle!” Bruce shouted. “Track every signal of abnormal radiation!”

He wasn't sure what was keeping him from falling because his legs felt like wet spaghetti as he ran to Clark’s side once again once the gang disappeared.

“The force field is altering the readings,” Oracle spoke in his ear. “It’s absorbing residual radiation quickly. The strongest signal comes from your location.”

Goddamnit. Every single day, Bruce felt like he couldn't keep doing this anymore, but he pushed forward no matter what, but now, with Clark bleeding out in his arms, no way to track the responsible people, and Alfred still 75 seconds away, he wanted to break down.

Bruce saw Clark was still conscious but in pain. He pulled him to sit up to prevent him from swallowing more blood. Clark’s body felt so light.

He checked for exposed injuries, but he found nothing. It had to be internal injuries. Clark couldn't speak, but he reached out for Bruce’s hand. He gripped it until his knuckles turned white and the obvious became evident, Clark didn't have super strength anymore, he barely had any at all.

“B, they're gone , ” Dick said through the comms. 

“They vanished.”

“Right in front of my damn face.”

Apparently, it was happening everywhere. They were disappearing like a puff of smoke. They would have to change their approach.

“Regroup at the cave,” Bruce ordered. His voice was particularly gruff to compensate for the fact that he was trembling. “Review all our information and contact Zatanna Zatara.”

[...]

Very few times in his life had Bruce seen Superman in such a state of vulnerability. He watched, still as stone as Alfred performed a surgical intervention on the field, his only comfort being the shadow of his daughter standing guard nearby. 

His limbs tingled from panic. Clark seemed to be losing consciousness the more time passed. The red sun lamp Alfred had brought took its time to work, and even if it was just a few seconds, each of them felt like a whole hour. 

It all felt wrong. Transfusing blood to Superman was wrong. Cauterizing his internal wounds was wrong. Giving him painkillers was wrong. The damage could’ve been worse, but it didn’t make him better. The sound of blood gurgling in Clark’s throat was playing in his head over and over again.

The way back to the cave was sickening. Alfred had taken Clark with him in his own Alfred-mobile, while Bruce had to drive the damaged batmobile to the cave. Leaving Clark’s side was like ripping his own arm off.

He wasn’t the first one to arrive at all. Most of his family was already discussing what they knew, gathering close to the Batcomputer. Not many of them acknowledged him when he arrived. Tim and Alfred were still not there. Duke and Damian were just integrating in the group. Despite monitoring everyone’s movements and locations, every head he counted made it easier for him to breathe.

“Debrief,” he said, not even looking at anyone’s faces.

“The GCPD is still containing the rioters,” Barbara informed. “There are still no traces of radiation that could point to more magic.”

“We can’t contact Zatanna,” Dick added. A muscle on his cheek was twitching almost imperceptibly and he wasn’t blinking, subtly revealing the turmoil of emotions inside him. “Traditional communications aren’t reaching her. Similarly to John Constantine. I sent a message to Raven, she should be able to help us, but we’re still awaiting her response.”

Bruce listened in silence. He was trying to take all the information to formulate a plan. He sat at the batcomputer while the rest of his family was still talking, analyzing the readings of radiation, because he was Batman and he has seen way too much shit in his life. Of course he was constantly monitoring radiation in Gotham. 

Magic had a particular way to emit radiation, most of it was outside of any spectrum humans could detect and interpret, but all the time, there were residues in gamma, infrared and particle radiation and that he could work with. The magic forcefield seemed to be emitting gamma radiation, and just before it started forming, the map showed detonations of said radiation around the city in a pattern he didn’t understand yet.

He didn’t miss Jason’s silhouette approaching the Batcomputer. He surely must be similarly confused.

“They used magical artifacts because they probably can’t use magic by themselves,” Jason said, causing Bruce to stop on his tracks.

“What?” He asked, slowly turning his head to look at Jason. It wasn’t a hard thing to deduce, now that Jason mentioned it, still, it had taken him off guard that Jason had come up to him and said it. 

“It makes sense that we aren’t seeing them yet. The spell they used for so many people must’ve taken a lot of energy out of them. It can’t be a simple teleportation spell, though. If it was, they would have reappeared already.” he hummed, reaching out to click some buttons on the keyboard and review the readings himself. “Huh. They must be using different artifacts for everything. All their actions emit different radiation.”

Now all of the family had fallen silent to look at Bruce and Jason at the Batcomputer, some with puzzled expressions. Jason watched the pattern of detonations closely as he hummed in thought, apparently working his own conclusions. Bruce just assumed his son knew more about magic than he thought and left it at that. Not all the others responded in that way, quickly starting to smother Jason with questions.

“When did you even learn magic?”

“How? Who taught you?”

“When were you going to tell us?”

Jason scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you everything I do in my life! Besides, I bet some of you already knew, you just forgot.”

The bickering died down when Alfred arrived, while Bruce's heart stopped for a second. He took quick heavy steps towards the vehicle and opened the door with the only purpose to see Clark’s chest rising with his breath, see that he was alive.

Cass had informed everyone Superman had been hurt, but seeing it, seeing the blue and the symbol on his chest stained by blood, his blood, really drove the point home. Everyone was immediately on edge. Their ally had been hurt, their indestructible ally. That was concerning for a variety of reasons.

“Alfred,” he muttered, with the goal his kids didn’t hear. “The house on Roses Street. Take him there.”

Alfred was surprised to hear Bruce mention the house from last week’s little circus. “Why is that?”

“That place is far from the center of Gotham. It’s less likely to be reached by any attacks,” he said. “Clark is in no condition to be involved in this. He needs to recover.” Bruce needs to take him away from those who can hurt him.

Alfred saved his disapproval for later. It was true that this situation had unexpected effects on the kryptonian and the rate he was recovering at was painstakingly slow compared to the usual pace, and of course Bruce didn’t want him in the Batcave. Like that, the possibility was higher that Clark would try to help. Bruce preferred to save himself the bother of saying ‘no’ to Clark.

“Very well, master Bruce.” With that, Alfred left by the same path he had come. 

Bruce watched them leave and heard a voice from behind him.

“Jason said he can find a way to destabilize the dome, but we should still hope one of the sorceresses contacts us,” Dick said, his voice serious. “There are more details, but you should hear it from him.” 

Bruce could feel Dick’s eyes burning holes in the nape of his neck, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to hear anything. Dick didn’t care what Bruce wanted, though.

“So you’re doing it again,” Dick pointed out. “I’m just asking to know if I’m right.”

“Right about what?” Bruce asked in a gruff, defensive voice. Dick felt a familiar hole in his stomach when he heard that tone, but he had learned to ignore it with the years. He barely felt the anxiety this time.

“You’re pushing him away,” Dick said. “Who are you going to push away next?” Bruce could hear the smirk in Dick’s tone and it was getting on his nerves.

»”Probably me, because I’m the one who’s always calling you out,” he continued. “Then Jason would be next, after he tells you his plan and you decide you don’t need him to be in the operation any longer.” 

Bruce clenched his fists. He didn’t need Dick’s opinion on this. He was already on edge enough.

“Then probably Duke, and you’ll excuse it with conflict of interests.” Dick sighed. He had promised himself he would stop with this. He would stop confronting Batman and he’d leave Bruce to his own problems. He didn’t have the responsibility of saying things to Bruce’s face, he didn’t need it, but it was like an instinct, deeply instilled inside him, that pushed him to speak up every time. A week ago, he thought it’d be funny, but it isn’t. Dick had freed himself from the mantle of Batman when he chose to become Nightwing, but he still hadn’t freed himself of the weight that came from knowing Bruce Wayne was a better man thanks to him.

»”I thought we had learned that’s not a good strategy in the long run.” Even being this aggressive, he was sharing the guilt with his words. We. He felt like talking to a child sometimes. Maybe he was in the wrong for doing that, but it worked. He hated it.

“Enough!” Bruce exclaimed. The eco of his voice reverberated through the whole cave, shaking the bones of all present. 

Bruce regretted it as soon as that word left his mouth. He wanted to respond to Dick, but what could he say that he hadn’t said a thousand times before? It’s for your own good. It’s  too dangerous. It’s my city and I give the orders. I make the rules. 

Not saying that left him without words. He just stood there in silence. He took the cowl off to look at his son face to face. He didn’t find the words to finish what he’d started.

Dick knew this and it broke him. He had known Bruce for most of his life, he’d seen him at his highs and lows, and despite his anger, the despair in those eyes made him want to give in and be the pillar keeping it all together. The feeling made him want to throw up. 

“I know it’s hard,” Dick murmured, looking down to avoid more of Bruce’s gaze. “We see a lot of shit every day. Death happens around us all the time. You have to accept that.”

»”Like it or not, we are all in this life,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We all assume the risk. Even Clark. Make peace with that, or you’ll die early from a heart attack.” 

Bruce looked at his son turn around to reunite with the group, which had seen and heard it all. They continued making plans just like that. They had the habit of pretending these uncomfortable moments never happened, not a word was said afterwards, just small gestures that could be considered an apology in the unstable communication’s book.

Bruce joined in, determined to save the city just like everyone else in the group. He remembered compromises before about the same topic. He had never made compromises including Clark, though.

[...]

Jason had a solid plan. They just needed to obtain the components. They would be able to evacuate the city befopre anything bad happened. For a second, he felt like he could breathe, and as soon as he had gotten the message from Alfred that Clark was awake, he rushed to the house. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he held them back. 

Clark sat in a bed surrounded by sun lamps, which had been doing little to accelerate his healing, wearing fresh new clothes. As soon as he saw Bruce, he tried to move towards him.

“Bruno-” Clark inhaled sharply 

“No,” Bruce had told him, rushing to his side to keep him down. “Don’t move. Don’t talk. You lost too much blood. The wound is still healing. I’ll fill you in.” 

Clark appreciated when Bruno treated him and spoke to him with such gentleness. It made him feel safe. Sometimes he wanted to feel protected too, and Batman, Bruno, could achieve that so easily.

However, the moment was interrupted by the sound of a car with a powerful engine stopping in front of the house. Bruce hadn’t been informed of anyone coming and turned to head to the door, but Clark had the answer to all the questions in his head before he even stepped out of the room.

“Is that-” Clark’s voice was rough. He had to say something even if Bruno had told him not to. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing with his x-ray vision. “Timothy Drake?”

Bruce clenched his fists.

Chapter Text

“Bruno, it’s not for anything, but why is Timothy Drake-Wayne here?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow, almost in disbelief. Bruce, on his part, wanted to die. 

“I know this is confusing,” Bruce said, exasperated. “But it’s complicated to explain. He’s one of my associates, as Batman.” That much was true.

He had to come up with an explanation quickly, but the interruption was so sudden that Bruce hadn’t had the time to make it sound like the truth. Honestly, saying something like that would always sound like a lie, no matter the tone or choice of words. Clark looked skeptical. It was better just to say it outright.

“... He’s Red Robin,” Bruce added, like that would explain everything. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain in a second. I have to manage this.”

“What?” Clark couldn’t help the question. It was a lot of shocking information at one time, even for a man that had super fast processing.

Actually, no, it wasn’t. It was just a simple bit of information, easy enough for Clark to put together given the situation, Clark just had a reflex from how utterly ridiculous his situation felt.

“Wow, you didn’t tell me you knew Tim Drake,” he pointed out. Every word spoken felt like a dagger twisting in his chest, but he had to say them. He was feeling slight annoyance starting to bubble inside him, a feeling of anger in the back of his mind, which he didn’t know the origin of. One of the monitors attached to his chest beeped, signaling a subtle increase in his heartbeat.

Bruce stopped and fixed his face, his attitude and his body language. He had to get himself together. He wasn’t sure why it was so hard around Clark. “Yes, I know. He’s someone who likes his privacy,” he said. “I didn’t think it was necessary to bring it up.”

That was what he said, but Clark didn’t feel the same. He hadn’t been able to ignore the fact that even with identities revealed, Bruno was still hiding things from him. Was Clark that untrustworthy? He could've at least mention it briefly?

“Yeah, I know I never asked,” Clark said. “Still, I thought I could know, but I don’t have to know all your secrets. After all, I’m just your boyfriend of years.” He kept his tone casual as he spoke. He felt bad for daring to be sarcastic with Bruno. He didn’t even know why. Bruno had done so many things to prove he trusted him, not only as Batman, but also as a civilian, trusting him with the identity of his children, trusting him to be near them. He didn’t know where the resentment came from, and he didn’t like to feel it.

Bruce didn't register the sarcasm at first, but something didn’t add up in what Clark said. The action “not knowing secrets” didn’t click well to the subject “boyfriend of years”, according to Bruce’s dictionary of social interactions. His eyes widened a tiny bit when he realized. He suddenly felt particularly defensive because Clark never used sarcasm against him.

But he didn’t have time to address that. If Bruce’s calculations were correct, he had around 20.6 seconds left before Tim started banging on the door and calling his name, and Bruce could not let Clark hear Tim calling for Bruce Wayne.

“Clark, I… Please stop talking. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He looked at the room’s door, as if he had his own x-ray vision to see Tim approaching. “I have to manage this. I’ll be back in a minute, alright?”

Clark stiffened. He felt irrationally angry, but who the hell was he to tell Bruno to not answer to Timothy Drake standing on his door. Was this the equivalent Batman meeting his boss? Because now, he could clearly see Batman's funding came from something related to the Wayne family.

“Yeah, go,” he told him, averting his gaze as well. He didn’t want Bruno to see the twitch in his eye. “I’ll wait here.”

Bruce left like the devil was running after him and closed the door. Clark was left alone in the room, and in the silence, without Bruno, he realized how bad he was actually feeling. He had been hit by trains before and this was worse. Probably because that train hadn’t actually hurt him. It was very rare that he had to feel prolonged pain. 

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn’t like Bruno that much.

[...]

Bruce opened the door before Tim could even knock. He didn’t have enough time to even muster a greeting when Tim was already speaking. 

“First of all,” Tim started saying. ”Would you care to explain why we are meeting here of all places?” He asked. Tim was fed up, honestly. After the first moment of crisis, he had to return to the office in WE and coordinate the lockdown of the business itself. His cortisol was running high enough already. Bruce was expecting this reaction.

“Before you say anything,” Bruce stopped him. Tim obliged just because he wanted Bruce to lay out all the details before saying anything. “Have you been informed of this operation?” 

It would sound like a normal question about catching up with the plan, but Bruce made a subtle gesture to their surroundings. He was referring to the house. Tim scrunched his nose in response. “Yes, I have. I don’t really know what I was expecting.” Bruce stepped aside and Tim walked in, dragging a suitcase behind him. “Have we… you know.” Tim looked at the ceiling briefly, almost unnoticeably, but Bruce knew what it meant. Is our guest upstairs?

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. Tim sighed.

”Look, I’m just here because I have to talk about company affairs,” he said. He seemed so done with it already. He needed a nap. “I’ll let you know, this is tremendously unprofessional.” Tim crossed his arms, like he was daring Bruce to say something. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What do you need me to do?” He asked. He was tapping his foot on the floor, betraying his own impatience.

“Oh, nothing!” Tim replied, putting a fake smile on his face. He had a sarcastic tone that got on Bruce’s nerves every time. “I just came to inform you that Bruce Wayne will be making a statement tomorrow at Wayne Enterprises, for crowd control, you know.”

Bruce had expected it, more or less. The people of Gotham trusted Wayne Enterprises more than they trusted the police at that point. Their history backed them up and they never failed their reputation as the universal carers of Gotham. That implied the executives would have to make appearances now and then when it came to critical situations like this. 

“I’ve also been tasked with giving you this completely unrelated package,” he added, shoving the suitcase forward, towards Bruce. “I swear, If I had a nickel for how many times I’ve been asked to bring you a change of clothes this month…”

»”There’s nothing else I have to tell you. I must go now. Some of us have things to do other than lounge around our houses.” 

Bruce was relieved when he saw Tim leave through that door. He preferred it that way. Small interactions, nothing that could reveal his identity. His heart was racing. He felt worse than all the times he’s had to fight giant robots with the Justice League. He hadn’t wanted to throw up from relief any of those times, after all.

He caught a glimpse of Alfred moving in the kitchen, which had become an impromptu infirmary, judging by the amount of medical equipment laid out. This time, he was wearing a brown short sleeve shirt and gray dress pants. So much for the suburban grandpa aesthetic. Bruce could appreciate his commitment to the bit, though.

“I’d suggest you go to see Mr. Kent,” Alfred told him. “He’s not the only one who can use heartbeat readings to tell someone is angry. I don’t even want to know what you said.”

Bruce was taken aback. He had forgotten it. The sarcasm, the averted gaze. How could he leave like that without addressing it? He had clearly done something that bothered him, but he had been too worried by maintaining his charade to think of anything other than stopping Tim from blowing it all up. 

He clenched his jaw and heard his teeth clicking uncomfortably. He just gave a simple nod to Alfred and headed upstairs. Now he knew what he was looking for in Clark’s face when he opened the door to the room, the tense brow, a slight quirk on his lip, jaw set as stone, barely any blinking, the silence, all the signs of annoyance, even anger.

He felt disappointed when he realized them. Clark was looking at him, unblinking, silent, looking like a statue of neutrality. He was expecting Bruce to speak first.

“Uhm… I’m sorry, I had to… get that,” Bruce said awkwardly. He felt stupid, a grown man speaking like a stupid teenager. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Clark said, his voice perfectly neutral, still raspy. His mask of seriousness broke when he had to shut his eyes tight due to the pain of talking. He had felt a bit bad, though. Timothy Drake sounded mad because Bruno was far from work, all for being with Clark. He felt a bit bad, but what's done is done. He wasn't less mad.

Bruce raised an eyebrow slightly. Clark’s response had been concise, brief, and devoid of intent. He readied himself to say the next words, because he felt like he was about to push the Sisyphus’ rock of conversations.

“As I was saying before we got interrupted,” he said, clearing his throat briefly. “I’ll explain everything.”

»”The hit you took caused internal damage. Your esophagus was badly lacerated and you lost a large amount of blood.” Bruce sighed. “Aside from that, whatever spell that was seemed to have weakened your powers. I’m not sure how long the effects will last.”

Clark’s gaze softened slightly as Bruno kept talking. He nodded in response to those words. He felt a bit calmer. Maybe he was just being unreasonable.  Bruno reached out to put his hand on top of Clark’s. “For now, I need you to stay here,” he said. “We have a plan already. We are working on it.”

Clark nodded again. Then he had a bright idea for communication.

“That is good. Is there anything I can do to help?” Clark signed. He almost wanted to laugh from the soreness he felt just by moving his hands, but he wouldn't have to shake his head or nod, or suffer by saying words.

“No, it’s alright,” Bruno replied briefly.

Clark wasn’t satisfied, but he knew he had limitations. Bruce didn’t usually want him working in his city, much less in the state he was in. He could accept it. “What's the plan, then?”

That’s when Bruce hesitated once again. He didn’t want to tell Clark, because if he did, his Boy Scout boyfriend would inevitably try to do something about it, and he didn’t want Clark taking any risks. 

“It’s classified,” he responded, looking away. His expression hardened a bit. Those simple words were enough to reignite Clark’s anger. 

“Why?” Clark asked, leaning forward a bit. His movements were more sudden, his body language more aggressive. It was subtle, but it was enough to add to Bruce’s edge. Two could play the game of defensiveness. 

“You are not involved in the mission,” Bruno answered pointedly. He wanted Clark to back down. “You don’t need to know about it.”

Bruce knew that wouldn’t satisfy Clark. “Why?” The kryptonian asked again. “I think I’m not understanding something. Me knowing is going to ruin it somehow?”

Clark knew he was probably overreacting, but even over the years, he didn’t like when Bruno did that. They had fought countless times about this very thing: Batman purposefully holding information about his plans, like he didn’t trust anyone to handle that information at all.

“No, Clark, it’s not that you will ruin it,” Bruce countered. “I just don’t want you to be worried.”

“You haven’t considered that not telling me the plan is going to make me even more worried?” Clark added skeptically. “I thought we had gone over this after the last 6 alien invasions?”

Bruce didn’t like to be reminded, of course. “Yes, I know, but this time is different. You’re hurt, you can’t be anywhere near the fight.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say I was going to fight, I just want to know, is that so bad?” 

“Clark, it’s not-” Bruno sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know how you are, alright? I know that if I tell you the plan, then you’re going to be tempted to participate, and I can’t have that.”

Clark visibly cringed at Bruce’s words, he was looking at him like he was crazy. “Wow, wow.” Clark almost wanted to laugh. “What? Now I’m some kind of dumbass that doesn’t know his own limits?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t? That's strange because I could’ve sworn that you just said you wanted to keep me in the dark to keep me safe?” Clark let out a huff. “Just makes me wonder what else you’re not telling me.”

Bruce stayed silent after that one. He felt his blood run cold, and Clark must’ve realized the hitch in his breath, because he acted like he had the confirmation to his suspicions.

“So there are more things you haven’t been telling me,” he signed. “What is it? Maybe it's about that conversation you just had downstairs? The one with the least words possible, because you clearly didn’t want me to hear something?”

“I’m not wrong for wanting privacy,” but Clark barely listened to that comment.

”I thought that maybe, maybe, getting to see each other in a casual manner would strengthen the trust between us, but things are the same as always.”

Bruce almost took a step back. That statement hit him like a physical blow. He felt himself spiraling into panic mode, clenching his fists by his sides, beginning to feel a headache in his temple. 

“I am just doing what I can to keep you safe,” Bruce told him harshly. “It’s my city, I make the calls, I…” 

His hands were shaking. Clark wasn’t responding either. He had already said what he wanted to say, now it was up to Bruce to answer, and so far, his answer wasn’t satisfactory. Bruce knew he couldn’t play the city card now. This wasn't about the mission or about Gotham. It was about the relationship.

“Lives are in danger, Clark,” he told him, like somehow Clark didn’t understand. “You are not at your 100%. Having you involved in the mission would be a bigger risk than not.” He tried to use the kindest words he could.

“It’s like you’re not even seeing what I’m saying,” Clark signed, seeming more and more frustrated as the conversation went on. “I never said I’d be on the mission, I just want to know the plan. I’d feel better if you just told me. I don’t know what’s so hard.”

“I know you, Clark,” Bruno responded, raising his voice a notch. “I know that you would try to help, no matter what! I don’t need that, I don’t need you hovering over everything. We can manage ourselves just fine. In your state, having you there would be more of a liability than help!”

Clark clenched his fists so hard so suddenly that he caused a small breeze in the room. Bruce realized what he had said too late. 

“What did you just say?” Clark signed, his hands stiff. Bruno didn’t repeat it. 

» ”I understand.” Clark’s expression was just tired at this point. It wasn’t the first time Bruno called him a liability. He did as Batman when he was under much stress, like a big Justice League mission, some intergalactic peace negotiation or alien attack. Clark could understand. That didn’t mean it hurt less.

Maybe Bruno was right, though. Could he really say, with confidence, that he wouldn’t try to help at all? He knew his limitations, he would never go if he thought he’d be a burden. It’s not that he didn’t trust Bruno and his family. He just wanted to help. He’d do anything in his power to save people.

He didn’t want say this, though. Fighting clearly wasn’t taking them anywhere. He turned his back on Bruno and laid down. This conversation is over.

Clark was glad Bruno was out of the room before the first tear fell, because he wouldn’t have been able to hide it, not when all his emotions were crashing down on him suddenly.

[...]

Bruce would’ve wished the conversation had ended in another note, but as long as it persuaded Clark, then he was satisfied. He would fix it later, when they could be calm and talk with cold heads. That’s right. Later was good.

In the meantime, he’d study his files. It turned out the suitcase contained a suit, probably one he’d be expected to wear for the statement. It was a nuisance. He didn’t get why he had to go to the building in Wayne Enterprises and stream it live. He’d have to drag all the crew and PR team to the open in the middle of a lockdown. 

He took a deep breath. Compartmentalize, Bruce. If he focused on the role he had to play, then he could mute all the worries from the outside and forget that this could not get any worse. 

Chapter Text

Clark could hear that the kids arrived at the house later at night. They didn’t come to see him and he didn’t get up either. He heard Bruno’s steps going downstairs and more seemingly mundane conversations that obviously used vocabulary designed to protect any important from super-hearing individuals, also known as Clark, who was very much listening.

He couldn’t help it. He thought about Bruno’s privacy and felt guilty, but mostly confused. He didn’t know what he had done in his life to require Bruno to hide those kinds of things from him. It didn’t feel fair. 

Bruce, on his side, was still reviewing the documents on a tablet. Alfred had convinced him to get down to the dining room to have dinner “together as a family”. Everyone was weirded out. They could feel the tension in the air and the usual awkwardness that came with talking in a Kryptonian-safe way. Not that they talked a lot. Bruce was more focused in his work.

It was the usual. There were reports of damages, missing people, and more. What he had to do was to reassure society. He had to give them the confidence to know they would be alright. Their homes would be rebuilt, and meanwhile they could go to the WE shelters (all Joker proof, of course), their salaries would still be paid, independently of the lockdown, and so on. He still wasn't happy he'd have to drag a whole team from their homes, to the open, which at this point, was as risky as a war zone, but PR was PR.

After dinner, they’d go on patrol, which was bound to be calm. Most people, even criminals, stayed inside when there was a city-wide threat of toxic hazard. Very few would see this as a chance to do their business unbothered, and that was the ones Bruce would have to take care of. Much to his chagrin. 

He had wanted to participate in the operation to obtain the items for the counterspell and hopefully, minimize the amount of illegal things they’d have to do. Of course, Jason had to come up with a plan that involved stealing from two different museums and a collector’s private safe. How did he even know the item they needed was in that collection? No idea. 

But just a knowing look from Dick persuaded him from going. He had enough discussions for a single day. He didn’t need another one. Besides… He wanted to do better, to actually do better. This seemed to be a very obvious chance for him to do so.

Still, out of all the parenting manuals he’s read in his life, none of them included how to act when your children told you they had to steal the Eye jewel of the Sun God from an art collection because someone had found it and sold it as a piece of contemporary art to some uninformed fool. 

So there he was. The others at the table could sense his uneasiness and stress, mainly due to his stiff body language and the way he was bouncing his leg like he was trying to dig a hole in the floor. Sometimes he stopped to reflect about his life and the crazy world he lived in, in which there was always a particular object with a tacky name to solve something that should be simpler than that.

[...]

“Honestly, Hood, why are all these magical artifacts lying around museums and such? Shouldn’t the magical community do something about it?”

“Well, it’s not like the big bad bat lets magic users pass by Gotham just like that.”

“Do magic users even count as metahumans?”

“I don’t know, Timbo. B has his own definition.”

“And why don’t you collect these artifacts, Hood?”

“I won’t collect magical artifacts just because I can do magic. I have enough trouble in my life as it is. Have you seen Constantine? That’s how you end up. I am not going to do that.”

[...]

Once the artifacts were retrieved and patrol was done, everyone was going to sleep. Bruce didn’t even dare glancing at the door of the bedroom where Clark was. He sent himself to sleep on the couch, like he knew he deserved.

How did he even fix something like that? He had called Clark a liability. There was no way around that. He had to apologize, but how? 

Everyone who knew him could tell you he didn’t have much experience with that, he was aware, but he had to clear it up. Had he meant to hurt Clark? Of course not. Had he meant Clark could become a liability? 

… Just a little bit.

But he can’t just say, “Oh, Clark, I’m sorry for my wording, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, though I did mean the part of you being a liability”. And what kind of boyfriend did that make him? A terrible one, for sure. 

Clark didn’t deserve that.

He wanted to cry and throw up and roll on the floor, but instead he just reviewed his files until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

[...] 

The next day was pretty silent. He wasn’t in the mood to utter anything more than a few ‘hnn’s and ‘hmmm’s, so the conversation between him and Alfred was minimal that morning. Both Duke and Damian would be sleeping in, schools in lockdown and all. 

He tried not to focus much on Clark’s silent door. He knew his boyfriend was well taken care of by Alfred. He could at least have one less worry in his list. He tried to focus on that as he ate breakfast, got dressed and in the taxi. He’d meet the rest of his crew at the Wayne Enterprises building. 

He hated press appearances. They were tedious on themselves, but the preparation process was what he dreaded the most. He hated the heavy makeup, he hated people touching his face, people touching his hair. Even if he had had the same hairstylist for the last 17 years, he still got uneasy. He could get this done. After all, this was part of saving the city as much as it was to fight the forces of evil.

Bruce had fallen in love with Gotham, as much as it was love full of turbulence and pain. He would give everything of himself. He already was. Despite his protestations, the constant ache in his body, the way she always took more and more away from him, he’d always be at her feet, fighting for her, or begging her for change. He’d always fold like a house of cards for her and her people. 

These were his slow moments. Not even in private he felt like time wasn’t chasing him. At his home, at the batcave, there was always something to do or something to fix, something to investigate. His life felt like running against the clock, a need to be efficient, and the constant disasters in Gotham were a reminder, and they came every time he felt like he was moving towards respite. 

Just this time, no matter what he did, he couldn’t hurry it. He had to sit down on that chair and let his crew do the work. He had to stay still as they put makeup on him and did his hair. Rushing his crew would be terribly rude of him, Alfred had told him after the one time he had done it (even when he tried to be as polite as possible), and he hadn’t done it since then. When he was Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist, winner of most eligible bachelor prize in the Gotham Gazette for 27 years, it was when he had to give up the most control.

He stepped up onto the podium. It was going to be a very nice shoot just at the entrance of the WE building. The sunlight, which would have usually been gray due to Gotham’s eternal cloudy sky, was dimmed with a slight violet tone due to the magic force field. They had lamps to fix that. The GCPD was surrounding the area along with Bruce’s own security team, in case the worst happened. Bruce didn’t like that. He didn’t want the police there, when they could all be patrolling the streets, protecting the ones that are truly helpless.

He didn’t have the freedom to tell them off, though. In the eyes of everyone else, he was just as helpless. He recognized Lyle and Nora in his security team, he had talked to them a few times. They were married and had a child. He felt guilty for pulling them out of their home (even if he had given the option to his people to stay at home). The kid was probably being watched by Nora’s sister. There was also Josh, a young man who had recently left the gang he was in to work for WE. That was what he always saw. He saw people and he saw lives worth protecting, no matter the cost. 

Just as there were always reminders of the things taken away from him, there were even more reminders of why he did what he did.

Even though the chance of being attacked was low, he had already identified three different escape routes for each scenario in his head. The actual conflict was with the government and the police, but he had to know what he would do in the case they decided to show up. He looked straight at the camera and heard the instructions through his earpiece. 

Live in three, two, one…

“Citizens of Gotham, I hope you’re having a good day, as good as it can be with this challenge we are now facing…” The words flowed from him like silk, soft, light and warm. His voice was perfectly modulated, calm with the perfect tinge of seriousness as he spoke and reassured everyone that they’d be okay, and he’d see to that. It wasn’t that much of a lie. He knew what to say and how to say it to make you feel at ease.

Time passed and nothing seemed to happen. The edge in everyone’s shoulders had been fading slowly. Even Bruce was starting to believe nothing would happen, but he shut down that though. He wasn’t so naive. 

Bruce swore he could feel the vibration in the air a second before the portal opened in the middle of the set. He had some ‘I told you so’s to deliver to some people. Screams and thrashing started almost immediately, Bruce included, but not exactly like the others.

“Over there!” He shouted, pointing in the direction of a nearby alleyway. There weren’t many places to hide or to get away from any magical attacks, but the alleyway would allow them to get to the parallel avenue and get to a safe zone. 

Being hypercompetent as Brucie Wayne was a tricky thing to do. People would double-check before doing what he said, so he usually pretended to go with the flow and then lead the flow himself.

He directed the people over there subtly, but even when his security tried to pull him away as well, he scurried away and stayed put, pretending to be panicked and lost in the middle of the commotion. They were probably targeting him, and going along with the crowd would only put them more at risk. He’d have to apologize later for the very obvious heart attacks he was giving to his bodyguards. 

“Mr.Wayne, please!” Nora cried out, clearly on the verge of having a stroke from watching Bruce getting away in another direction, putting himself in the (relative) open. 

Despite popular belief, Bruce didn’t intend to get himself captured, he just needed to gain enough time for any of his children to get there and control the situation. The GCPD was really not handling it well, as expected. He had been right thinking he was the target, as the other people were being ignored for the sake of going after him. 

He knew he had to find cover quickly. He could hear the crackling of magic behind him, like a light buzz of electricity tickling his ears. He was running fast, as fast as he could with the shoes he was in, but it didn’t seem like enough. He heard running steps closing up to him.

He was about to throw a punch at whoever was there, and was taken aback when he didn't see any clown paraphernalia. Instead, there was Lyle, face dead serious, but if the tic in his eye meant anything, angry as hell with him. 

“Mr. Wayne, get down!” Lyle told him, forcing him to crouch and shielding him with his own body. From the corner of his eye, Bruce saw a group of attackers closing up to him. Lyle’s hand was on his holster, as the two wouldn't be fast enough to get away from them all, he was ready to shoot.

Bruce wasn’t going to allow that.

The one that seemed to be the leading attacker was swinging around a magic staff, very similar to the ones he saw during the first confrontation, and that wasn’t good news. 

He had already seen the possible effects of a blast like that, and Clark was a kryptonian.. Who knows what that thing would do to an actual human? This man had a life, a family. All those years ago, he had promised not to let any more children go through the pain of losing a parent. 

He maneuvered to get himself in front of Lyle, positioning himself to absorb the impact of the already approaching orb of light with his forearms. He only saw a brief glance of his bodyguard’s horrified expression before everything went dark.

[...]

A new transmission swiftly interrupted the WE one. It showed a man, wearing a cartoonish clown mask, though dressing more finely than his alleged goons. 

"We have the feeling that we haven't been taken seriously in our demands, due to Batman's and Bruce Wayne's attempts to keep the peace," he said. "But there will be no peace. There has been a change of plans."

»"If our demands are not met by 00:00 hours tonight, we will release the gas and Bruce Wayne will get what he deserves."

Chapter Text

Bruce woke up in a plain gray room, with a single white light bulb above his head, illuminating the space. His head pounded. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and assessed his bindings first. 

He was sitting on a wooden chair, wrists firmly tied behind his back, and ankles tied to the chair’s legs. The amount of rope used was ridiculous and the knots were too tight. Kidnappers rarely tied him up in a way that would take him actual work to break free. Mainly because they underestimated Bruce Wayne’s capability of doing that. This was not the case, apparently.

He had no way to know the hour or how long he had been asleep. He opened his eyes and lifted his face, looking around. There were two guards armed with both guns and magical artifacts, wearing some kind of clown paraphernalia. Bruce cringed. 

“Do you know how many rules of the clown code you’re breaking right now?” He said, his eyebrows calculatedly quirked in a sarcastic expression. He had practiced that expression in the mirror so many times, it was perfect at that point.

The guards didn’t say anything. They glanced at him and one of them murmured something into a radio that Bruce couldn’t hear properly. He looked away, now focusing on the pressurized gas containers that were in the room, probably containing the toxin. 

A few minutes passed. Not a word. 

“So rude to ignore me like that,” Bruce muttered, his expression shifting to mild annoyance. “You know, kidnappings usually involve someone making demands. What is it this time?”

The guards didn’t say anything again. Bruce would have to keep bugging them. “Is it money? I assure you, I don’t have a hold on the police, contrary to popular belief. I can’t get your lame excuse of a clown released by moving influences.”

Ignored again. These goons probably didn’t have enough power or information to deal with him by themselves.

“You know what? I want to speak to your manager,” he demanded, his voice tinged with just the right amount of annoyance and dignity. “Or whatever you have. Your superior. I’m not versed in the hierarchy of terrorist groups.” 

The guards shared a look. They weren’t sure what to do. 

“I demand to speak to your leader,” Bruce said, raising the volume of his voice slightly. “Or else.”

The guards still weren’t buying Bruce’s bait. Bruce needed something that would actually intimidate them. As Batman, calling out for Superman was unacceptable, but Brucie Wayne? Number one benefactor to the Justice League? Who knew Superman was in the city? 

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as possible. He tightened his core, modulated his voice to the most annoying, gaudy voice he could muster, and then screamed. “SUPERMAAAAAA-”

He was promptly shut up by an exasperated guard’s hand. “Fine, fine! Just shut up! We’ll call him.”

Good, because he didn’t have the intention of actually getting Clark out of his bed.

Superman, napping on the other side of the city, was suddenly awoken with a feeling of panic making his chest tight. Who was that?

[...]

Bruce’s ear wasn’t as sensitive as Clark’s, but he could hear a new buzz in the background. He knew the super-hearing blocking frequency well. Now he wouldn’t be able to call for Clark. It was fine. He didn’t need Superman’s support.

He waited patiently until a new person crossed the door of the room. This one was wearing a deep purple wool coat, with a yellow rose on the lapel and a cartoonish clown mask. To the eye of a well-versed Gothamite, it was an obvious emulation of the infamous clown prince of crime, but it was a more sober look, with more muted colors and finer cut. The mask offered something that could almost be a friendly expression, very different to the Joker’s actual deranged grin, though no respectable resident of Gotham would be tricked so easily. 

“Mr. Wayne,” the man spoke, his voice with a friendly, higher-pitched inflection, but still calm and serious. The sound was muffled under the mask. Bruce was careful not to let any of his emotions show.

“Ah, you must be the manager, or whatever,” Bruce replied, not impressed by this stranger’s act. 

“I heard you asked to see me, Mr. Wayne,” the supposed leader said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Jack, the man behind the operation. A pleasure to meet you.” He gestured to offer a gloved hand to shake, but remembered the conditions of his prisoner and refrained.

“I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jack,” Bruce said, still not impressed. Bruce’s reaction didn’t seem to phase the man. “I requested to meet you because your men refuse to discuss your demands with me. I supposed they didn’t have the ability.” 

The man nodded. “That is true. They are not supposed to talk to you at all, Mr. Wayne, but I’ll clarify the situation.”

»”Our demands are not directed to you,” he said. “You are now just an unplanned part of the negotiation, but you have nothing to worry about if the city makes the right choice.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. The man laughed. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Mr. Wayne,” This man, Jack, said. “You and I have a goal in common. We want to make this city a better place.”

“Gassing the population strikes me as an unorthodox strategy for that,” Bruce said. “Have you considered volunteering? I’m sure the city would appreciate it more than… whatever this is.” 

“I am sorry, Mr. Wayne, but this is just a necessary evil,” Jack said, trying to put up a compassionate act, like he didn’t actually want to do it. 

“I’ve heard that before,” Bruce said with a sigh. If he could pinch the bridge of his nose, he would. “You wouldn’t consider taking a few million dollars to leave the city alone? I’ll give them to you. No ropes attached. Untraceable. It's a good deal.” 

That often worked when kidnappers were about money, but Bruce wasn’t sure it would work this time. 

“A greatly generous offer, Mr. Wayne!” Jack said in a laugh. “But I will have to turn it down. I don’t want to take that dirty money of yours. It would not do my image any good.”

“Dirty money?” Bruce asked, slight disbelief in his voice. “That is perfectly legal money. I know about the impression I might cause, but I am not like that.”

Bruce had, on more than one occasion, tried to get rid of his fortune, but it had been impossible, and in the end, realized that if he didn’t have it, then someone else would, and someone else might not be as honest as him. How was he supposed to explain that? 

“Think of it, Mr. Wayne, for once in your life!” Jack was trying to give a theatrical flair to his speech and actions, but it didn’t have the same effect as the real thing. It seemed more persuasive. Maybe that was the point? “Inherited wealth that was inherited and inherited, and inherited, and inherited through generations. Does that seem fair to you?”

Bruce stayed silent. 

“I know, I know.” Jack shook his head. “Not fair at all. While this city rots around you.” He took a deep breath and turned away, solemn, like some strange attempt at a politician. 

»”It will start when the Joker is freed,” he said. “The city took a deeply disturbed man, fed up with the injustices and oppression, and tried to transform him into a lesson to society, that those who rise against the status quo are criminals, not heroes. We’ll show them exactly which lesson we learned.”

Bruce could recognize a very concerning thought process there.

“That’s not true,” he said. “The Joker is no hero. Dozens are dead because of him!” 

Behind Bruce’s eyes, the memories replayed. The pain, the panic, the destruction. 

“Dozens of traitors to society,” Jack countered. “Judges, cops, rich people. Burdens to society. People don’t see it, but there’s a message. Most are too stupid to understand.”

“And you’re, oh so smart,” Bruce retorted sarcastically. “Innocent people, civilians who were irreparably hurt, they don’t matter?” Bruce couldn’t assimilate it. Who could ever get to that conclusion?

“Collateral damage in a revolution is impossible to avoid,” Jack said with a shrug. 

Bruce was familiar with that concept. It never ended well. He was deeply disgusted by all those people who looked at people, and just saw collateral damage, faceless masses of disposable lives. Rage bubbled inside him. He wanted to get rid of his bindings and beat the man to a bloody pulp.

But no. Frustrating his plans was more important than anger. As much as it made him sick, he’d stay put and wait for the right moment. Justice, not revenge.

“See you later, Mr. Wayne,” Jack told him. “I hope the city makes the right choice. It would be a shame to be forced to fulfill our threats.” Then he turned to the guards. 

»”Give the order to take these away.” He gestured to the tanks in the room. 

[...]

“We searched everywhere,” Luke said into the comms. “Not a sign of the toxin.”

The team was doubling their efforts. Their priorities needed to be revised, as they might not have the time to deactivate the force field spell before the timer went off. On the other side, they had a consistent pattern of radiation with magical origin that they could trace. They were being stretched thin between the two operations and reduced time. Stopping the release of the gas and lifting the force field spell were of equal priority. Rescuing Bruce was next. 

“If the toxin is not in position yet, they will start moving them soon,” Dick said. 

“It would be too easy to find them that way,” Damian said. “The population is in strict lockdown. We would notice any vehicle moving through the city.”

Team 2, consisting of Dick, Luke, Kate, Tim, Damian and Harper, was still discussing what to do in the Batcave. Team 1, consisting of Jason, Stephanie, Cassandra and Duke were already venturing into the city to set up the counterspell. Oracle and Alfred were in their respective stations to support each group. 

Tim tapped his foot on the floor, staring at Gotham’s map intensely as he thought. “That’s right… The only vehicles circulating at the moment are police cars.”

It clicked immediately with the others. They shared a look.

“Talk to commissioner Gordon,” Dick said. “Tell him to watch out for any abnormal activities and monitor the patrol cars closely and to be careful of who he shares information with. We’ll be in touch.”

[...]

Clark was sick of being alone in the house. He didn’t know anything, Bruno hadn’t even stopped to say goodbye in the morning. He was mad this was how it was playing out, but his worry was more. 

He pushed himself off the bed with a grunt of effort. He still hurt a bit, but he was healing. He felt weaker than usual, as well. 

He wasn’t a stranger to the threat of the Joker. This might not be him, but it seemed to be someone willing to unleash that evil into the world, and that was just as bad. He was still deciding if that scream had been real or just part of a dream, but as Superman, hoping for the best was not an option for him.

And he didn’t feel as bad as before. Even if he was a bit dizzy, he could stand and walk. He pushed himself off of the bed and tried to focus, to see if he could hear the voice again. 

He heard many people talking in their homes, the engines of a few vehicles, but thankfully, it wasn’t the usual city bustle. It was much quieter. It was almost unnerving for Clark. 

He didn’t know where his super suit was, but it was probably bloodied. He wouldn’t be able to use that, or he'd scare the civilians he was supposed to protect. He assumed Bruno wouldn’t mind if he used some of his clothes. He would be very careful to not break them. 

He was a bit surprised to see that all of Bruno’s clothes were finer than he had expected. There weren’t any visible tags, but he could tell just by feeling it. Now he was going to feel pretty bad if he ruined any of them. He’d make an effort to not do that.

He got dressed and went down the stairs. A small note caught his eye. The handwriting wasn’t Bruno’s. It probably was Robert’s. Bruno didn’t even have the courage to write the note himself. For some reason, that made Clark angry, even when he knew he was being irrational. This wasn’t right, he told himself. He was the one who had failed to communicate his feelings from the beginning. Bruno probably didn't know that the things he did made him angry.

There was breakfast made for him in the kitchen, he just had to heat it up, but any hunger he might’ve had was ignored in favor of annoyance.

He put a jacket and a Gotham Knights baseball cap on and walked out of the house. There were too many cameras to risk flying from the front door. There was a benefit though, because he could hear something more clearly. A buzz in the background, almost like white noise. It would’ve been much harder to identify it from so far away if there had been as much noise as usual, but he could tell when someone didn’t want him to listen in.

Now he just had to figure out where that was.

[...]

Once in the city, Clark abandoned the jacket and cap he was wearing on a random roof. He’d retrieve it later, so no potential cameras would catch him with the exact same outfit  that he left Bruno’s house with. That’s when he started hearing gunshots. 

They were deafening in contrast with the city’s silence and obstructed his super hearing. He didn’t think twice before rushing to the scene, moving with superspeed in time to intercept all the bullets that otherwise would have landed on an old apartment building full of people. Clark heard their yelps and screams of fear.

He wasn’t surprised to see Red Hood and other members of the family at the scene as well, though he didn’t know them as well as Nightwing and Robin. 

“How can I help?” Clark asked Spoiler as he worked on disarming the attackers nearby. 

“Superman.” Spoiler’s voice sparked a bit of surprised recognition. “We have to fend them off at least until Red Hood activates the counterspell, take them all out if possible.”

Clark gave a nod of understanding. He could work with that. 

One would think it would be easy for Clark to simply knock out his human enemies, but it required strategy. He couldn’t punch indiscriminately, lest he wanted to kill someone (which he did not). Plus, in the moment Spoiler mentioned Superman, the attackers brought out the magical weapons as well, anmd he saw himself in the need to dodge. 

The whole team worked like a well-oiled machine. He could see Batman’s influence on them, but he was intrigued by how well they worked in their own styles. He should have a meeting with the Justice League about them. They’d make amazing members-

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden vibration from behind him. It was similar to the one he heard when the magic field first started. His vision blacked out for a second, but he didn’t lose consciousness this time. When his vision returned back to normal, he saw Orphan kicking down the last one of the attackers, just in time to save Clark from a magic beam directed at him.

The shield was making the most horrible sound as it was destabilized, but he seemed to be the only one that heard it. It was flickering out, fading slowly. 

“We still have to coordinate an evacuation,” Signal, Tony, said. He was focused, but the knowledge that they were stretched thin, not enough at all, weighed on him visibly. “We might still have enough time.”

Red Hood looked over at Clark. “Superman, if you’re fine now, we need you to do something.”

Clark nodded. Jason’s slight hesitancy wasn’t obvious under the helmet. 

“Batman is caught up,” he said. “But we need something taken care of. Bruce Wayne was kidnapped earlier today. Intelligence suggests that wherever he is, so is the leader of this group.” Red Hood spoke with understandable disdain. “We need you to find Bruce Wayne. Batman will probably catch up to you at some point.”

Spoiler, Orphan and Signal were finished zip-tying all the minions on the ground and jumped onto their motorcycles. With the shield no longer blocking the sunlight, Clark felt more energized, better. 

“Will do,” he said and took off. Duke, Stephanie, Cass and Jason watched him leave with the knowledge they might just ruin Bruce’s little charade, but that wasn’t their problem.

Chapter Text

Clark took a deep breath and took off, flying straight through Gotham’s eternally cloudy sky to bask in the warmth of the sun. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the freedom that the sun rays made him feel. He had spent so long in damp weather, away from the light. Gotham always seemed to be covered by a heavy curtain of mizzle. Her narrow alleyways and imposing statues called you to explore and unveil the mysteries that hide in them, despite how dangerous it is to get lost in them. In spite of his status as an outsider, Clark found beauty in that and the mossy stone bricks of her old buildings. but he didn’t know if he would ever get used to her coldness.

He knew he had to hurry. He had duties and responsibilities that called him to return to the ground. He looked down to the gray blanket of clouds that hid Gotham and dived down to continue with his task.

As he did, he tried to recount everything he knew about Bruce Wayne. It wasn’t much. Most of it was from articles he happened to read while browsing the news. Good things like charities and tech improvements related to his company, and some stuff not as good. He had witnessed some of it himself. Scandals, drunk accidents. He wouldn’t call it the best first impression.

He knew the shape of his face, but he had never looked so closely at him. He hadn’t paid attention to his particular characteristics, mainly because his blinding smile and plastic appearance were uncanny for him to see. He also had no reason to remember his heartbeat or the sound of his breathing, and that would make it harder for him to locate him quickly. 

After the forcefield collapsed, all the sound returned to normal all of a sudden, so he could no longer use the anti-hearing frequency as a guide to know where to go. Luckily, he still had the old classics in hand. He used X-ray vision and super speed to look into every building in the city as fast as a comet in the sky. In most cases, his vision was blocked by the lead in the pipes, but it didn’t necessarily spark suspicion, until something made him stop in his tracks. It was a warehouse. It was downtown and it looked abandoned, like many other buildings in the area. It had an extensive multi level basement, which made it one of the few buildings in the area with that characteristic, but there was something that made it stand out from all the others, and it’s that there was something blocking him from seeing inside. It was not like seeing lead. In that case, he would just see the gray lining, but that basement was like looking at nothing itself, like a moment of blindness had struck him and he had to look somewhere else to make sure his sight was still alright. It wasn’t a gray or black spot in his vision, it was simply nothing. The sight burned into his retina, causing him trouble to focus his eyes again. If that wasn’t a clue, then he didn’t know what it was. It must be some kind of hiding spell, but it was working in a strange way with his powers. 

Bruce Wayne was probably in some part of that basement, but he couldn’t come barging in into an underground area with such a limited space. There was a possibility that they had set up traps for him specifically, and they must have some kind of system to alert of intruders as well, so he had to be quick and stealthy. He still didn’t know how many people were there. The risk of direct confrontation was high, and involving a civilian made it even more difficult. And protecting himself, on top of that. Sometimes he forgot about that.

He studied the building from above using X-ray vision. At first glance, there were only two direct accesses to the underground areas, the stairs and an old elevator, and the building itself was empty. There was only one way to get in and it was the front door. There were two people standing guard inside, just by the entrance. 

The area was on the rundown side of downtown, where tourists were advised not to go even if they  wanted innocent pictures of gothic architecture, so there weren't any security cameras nearby that Clark could locate. He landed in front of the building and, with a calculated kick, he knocked down the door. He was immediately met with bullets from silenced handguns. Of course, they wouldn’t want to alert anyone with gunshots. Clark dodged for the sake of not ruining Bruno’s clothes, which weren’t exactly bulletproof. There was a little yelp when the shooters saw the man standing in front of them disappear into a blur and reappear right behind them, dropping bullets he crushed with his bare hands to the floor.

The first one went flying into a wall with a swift punch. Didn’t look like he’d be getting up any time soon. The other one’s hand went to their radio, but not quick enough to avoid Superman’s heat vision, which rendered it useless in seconds. They were also knocked out quickly. Hopefully, none of them would wake up before the rescue was executed. 

He grabbed a clown mask from one of them and the still useful radio. He had a unique chance to hide his identity without a giant crest of El on his chest, and that probably would allow him to go further without direct confrontation. That way, he would have more time to pinpoint Bruce Wayne’s location. 

He grimaced as he put on the mask. It smelled like morning breath. He shuddered and his hand went to the door handle. It didn’t budge. He tried with a bit more force. It still didn’t budge. It wasn’t moving, not even with super strength. It was getting frustrating. He had held meteorites lighter than that damn door.

He grabbed a keychain from one of the unconscious men and tried the keys until one of them finally opened the door. The stairs that followed were empty and bleak, illuminated by a single buzzing bulb that immediately started getting on his nerves. 

He went down, hovering a bit so his steps made the least noise possible. There were no distinct markings on the walls, not even as he reached the first underground level. He still couldn’t see through the walls. He was practically going in blind. 

He was about to venture further through the hallways, even though it was more likely that Wayne was in the lower levels, but before he could, he came face to face with another guy wearing clown makeup. 

The man stopped when he saw him. He didn’t seem to recognize him and was immediately defensive, holding a tank of pressurized gas like he would use it as a weapon if necessary. He was transporting it upstairs. Clark couldn’t allow that, or he would see the pair of unconscious coworkers he had left in the main building.

He moved quickly and punched the man, catching both him and the tank before they hit the floor and made noise. 

He took them to what seemed to be an empty storage closet, grinding his teeth in frustration. This was not working. He was leaving his tracks in the shape of unconscious bodies everywhere. 

He was about to melt this one’s radio as well to stop him from alerting anyone in case he woke up, but a sudden beep from it and a mechanized voice stopped him in his tracks.

“163, check in,” a mechanized voice said through the speaker. “Report.”

Well, Holley Shiftwell

Clark’s eye twitched. His time was about to be drastically reduced. If this guard didn’t respond, the others would probably be tipped off. 

“163, check in,” the voice repeated. 

Clark left the man there, rushing down the hall to cover as much terrain as possible before his time was up. The sound of steps was becoming louder and quicker, and it had quickly become obvious to Clark that he had wasted his time with that first level. It was all empty, but not for long. There were steps going up the stairs already, he could hear them. He would have to make his way through them. 

The shooting started almost immediately when the first attackers saw him. It was a crowded space and he didn’t have a lot of space to dodge. A bullet grazed his arm and he cursed. He hadn’t actually received damage, but Bruno’s shirt was now ruined. He’d stitch it up. He’d fix it. Or he would buy a new one. He’d solve it later.

[...]

Tim had found a consistent pattern between the radiation traces and police cars with abnormal routes. Using the marvelous power of geometry, he triangulated a location: an abandoned square in the middle of the city, and he was heading to it. 

“I swear, if you mess this up…” Jason scoffed through the communicator. “Do you remember—”

“Yes, yes, I remember the bibbidi bobbidi,” Tim scoffed back. “I’m on my way.”

“This will take a lot of energy. I don’t even know why I let you go. I bet your stupid ass is running on fumes, you—”

Tim interrupted him again. “I drank three energy drinks before going out. Focus on your stuff.”

“Sheesh, people like you are the reason nobody stays good in this world.”

[...]

Bruce’s head perked up when he heard the gunshots. He was trying to discreetly get free, but there was a guard in the room and that made it more difficult, since he couldn’t move freely, and the situation had just gone up in the danger scale.

“What’s that?” He asked the guard with an imposing tone, but the man didn’t respond. He seemed nervous as well, and had his gun ready in his hand. 

Bruce was getting more on edge. This was most likely not a local dispute. They were shooting at something. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t let it be one of his children—

The man who called himself Mr. Jack barged through the door again, still in his ridiculous get up, but with his mannerisms, Bruce could tell the man was in a way worse mood than before.

“Support on the 7th wing’s entrance,” he barked to the guard, and the man nodded frantically, leaving the room. He was barking orders at the radio. Getting his men tackled down by Superman one by one put him at a disadvantage. Bruce used his distraction to work on loosening his restraints. 

“I demand to know what is happening!” He said. Jack just let out a frustrated groan and looked up to the ceiling, as if asking for patience from god.

“Nothing that concerns you, Mr, Wayne,” he said. He picked the radio again and kept listening to whatever his minions were saying. 

It was hard to form a coherent idea from the noise coming from the speaker, but there was a clear sentence that made Bruce’s blood go cold.

“Looks like Superman—” a desperate voice said, before the words were interrupted by more gunshots.

Why the hell was Clark even there? He was supposed to be in bed. Why is he coming for Bruce Wayne? Who told him to? Certainly not him! 

The worst part is that Jack was not even phased by this information. In fact, he almost looked calmer than he was just five seconds before, hand in his pocket and all. Bruce fought against the restraints more earnestly. He needed to break free before something bad happened. 

“These useless idiots. I always have to do everything for them…” Jack muttered, then he changed the channel and spoke into the radio. “Turn the sound on. Halt fire.” he said, and the characteristic buzz of the white noise machine disappeared, just as the gunshots stopped. Jack wanted Superman to listen.

The man suddenly grabbed a gun from the depths of his coat and pointed it at Bruce. It was an old revolver that made a shiver go down Bruce’s spine. Looking up at the barrel of that gun brought him back to bad memories. 

“Superman,” Jack said. “I’d appreciate it if you would stop beating up my men. There are more important things you have to concern yourself with.”

Bruce was shifting on the chair, which could be taken as panicked attempts to move away, but no. They were coldly calculated ways to move away, actually.

His hands were almost free, he just needed a bit more time.

“Third level, middle hallway, all the way to the end, and then sixth room to the left,” Jack said. “Mr. Wayne is waiting there. If I hear that the attack continues, he gets shot.”

“Superman, it’s a tr—!” 

“Turn the sound back off,” Jack interrupted Bruce. The frequency started again.

It was only a matter of time, a matter of seconds, before Clark got there. He didn’t know what to do. What he wanted the most was to tell Clark to get away from what is obviously a trap. He regretted every example he had ever set. Never step into a trap if you don’t know if you can get out at all. It doesn’t matter if he did it sometimes. He was not as important anyway.

He kept struggling, showing a healthy amount of desperation and concern for the hero. It didn’t look like Jack was taking him seriously, though. He acted as if he had already won the game. 

The knob turned, and Bruce’s last spark of hope vaporized into nothing. 

Clark was there, but not wearing his super suit. Bruce recognized one of his shirts, but barely. It was almost torn to shreds on Clark’s body. It obviously had taken many bullets at this point. Clark’s skin was red underneath, bruises on their way to sprout, but no blood. 

Jack spoke immediately. He didn’t take his time with any more chit chat. “If you move in any direction, he’s dead,” he told Superman, his finger on the trigger. He wasn’t playing around. 

So Clark stayed put, eyes trained in the gun. Bruce knew what he was doing. He was trying to melt the barrel with heat vision, without actually setting off the gunpowder. It would take him a few seconds. This was not plastic, it would not melt like snow under the sun. 

In this line of work, a few seconds could mean everything. 

And that’s when Bruce spotted him, the guard from before, walking stealthily behind Clark, holding a magic staff and pointing it at Clark’s back.

“Behind y—!” He was, once again, interrupted.

“Turn around and he’s dead!” Jack exclaimed. From that angle, Bruce could see the shift in Jack’s pocket, and a barrel of even a smaller gun poking through the fabric. The man was prepared, even for in case his first weapon was sabotaged.

Superman didn’t turn around. The man behind him was ready to shoot.

Bruce couldn’t hold back. For a moment, his mind went silent and the only thing guiding him were his instincts. He threw himself, chair and all, towards Jack, knocking him off his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Superman dodging a potentially deadly blow and felt relief. 

Quicker than Jack could recover his aim with either gun, Bruce dislocated his own thumbs to get out of the ropes and pinned Jack’s arms with unmeasured force. He was satisfied with keeping him captive at the moment, but Clark suddenly swept the man from under him and grabbed both of his firearms. The man was thrown against a wall and barrels were crushed in his hands.

“We have to get out of here, Mr. Wayne,” Superman told him, tearing down the ropes that tied Bruce’s feet to the chair. Bruce was not done yet, though. As soon as he was free, he slipped away from Superman and tackled the attacker from before, who had gotten to the door frame now. Clark hadn’t thought of disarming or neutralizing him before he helped Bruce. He had to go and prioritize Bruce’s life, and the man was able to alert everyone else. 

Careless, he thought as he put his thumbs back in place and punched another minion, pushing the feeling of pain to the back of his mind. 

He abandoned his persona completely. There were more important things now. He realized not all of the attackers had magical weapons, and those who had were focused on getting Superman, so he came up with a strategy. 

“You take on the ones with regular firearms,” he barked at Clark. “I’ll take on the ones that target you.”

Classic ‘you have my back and I have yours’. He executed this move in the field with Clark countless times before. 

Clark fell in line immediately when he heard that order from pure muscular memory, even if it disoriented him a little. That was Batman. That was Batman’s voice. But Bruno wasn’t nearby.

Wayne and him worked like friends who had known each other for years and trusted each other with their lives. Clark protected him from bullets while Bruce took down those who could harm him. His brain couldn’t come to a logical explanation, because if he did, then that meant Bruno… Batman…

The stream of attackers became thinner and thinner. They could hear more commotion coming from the upper levels. Probably more support. 

“Mr. Wayne, this way,” Clark told Bruce when the last of the attackers was down and the last gun rendered useless, but Bruce didn’t listen.

“We can’t let the leader out of sight,” he said sternly. “If my deductions are correct, he’s the one that controls the magic source, if it isn’t himself. He can’t get away.”

Clark was just becoming confused. “Mr. Wayne, what-”

Bruce ignored him yet again, and looked over Jack’s limp shape. “Usual containment probably won’t do. We need Red Hood to manage this.”

Clark’s gaze went from Wayne to Jack and to Wayne again. This couldn’t be. It’s not possible. The only explanation was that Wayne, being an influential Gothamite, had a close understanding of the Bat’s dynamics, but he had just seen Bruce Wayne fight brutally and efficiently. How? Everything he knew about the man was suddenly crumbling. This was definitely a surprise.

“Oh, my… god… I can’t….” Jack groaned and pushed himself off the floor on his weak arms. Bruce immediately reacted and pinned him onto the floor again with cold precision and strength, not a moment of hesitation.

»”Bruce Wayne is Batman,” Jack wheezed. His mask was slipping, revealing one side of the man’s face. His expression was of pure fascination and exhilaration.

The pieces in Clark’s head didn’t click until after the man had said those words. He could see it now, underneath the perfect makeup, the perfect hair and ditzy attitude, laid the master of deception. Looking at Wayne, it was suddenly clear. 

That was not the face he had come to love. Now he could see latex applications hiding the crook of Bruno’s— Bruce’s nose. There were no smile lines, not a sign of an imperfection. Clark knew the man was hiding something by being so perfect, he just didn’t expect it would be from him. 

Bruce froze. There was really nothing that could salvage this now, and he knew it from the start. The moment Clark found out would be the breaking point. He regretted ever deciding to let him find out. He should’ve told him. The consequences of that wouldn’t have been anything worse than this. 

“Clark—” he uttered, his voice barely a whisper.Everything was falling apart. A strident voice interrupted.

“No way! Is that Superman’s civilian name?!” Jack exclaimed. He was starting to laugh uncontrollably. “Stupid-” He then gasped, like he had just won the lottery. 

»”No,  no, I know you!” He practically screamed. “You’re Lois Lane’s ex! No way, no way, no way-”

Clark just wanted him to shut up. His emotions were happening faster than he could process them. He wanted to escape, to get away from there and look for Bruno Díaz and confirm this was all a misunderstanding, and Bruce Wayne is just a weird look alike. Jack’s voice was basically background noise, barely noticeable in the deafening silence from Clark and Bruce alike.

“You’re all going down!” The wannabe clown yelled. “You’ll be ruined! I will tell everyone who you are, and you won’t be able to stop me! You idiots—!”

Bruce knocked him out with a calculated punch to the jaw. Clark almost cringed. He had seen that same movement from Batman more times than he could count. There was no room for denial anymore.

“I- I can explain,” Bruce said. He was desperate to keep Clark there, to have him listen to him. 

Clark prided himself in his emotional maturity. His parents had taught him well, and life continued to teach him even more. He had stuck to his principles in relationships from the beginning. Always listen when your partner is trying to communicate. They’re making an attempt, and they deserve to be heard.

Clark never thought he’d break that rule for one of the people he had loved the most. If anything, he should want to hear this explanation the most, but when he heard Bruce’s plead, he didn’t feel hope, he didn’t feel like they were about to clear up a misunderstanding, he just felt tired. 

All this time, he thought it was him. He thought he was the problem, but all he wanted was to make it work, and this? This looked like Bruno didn’t want it to work at all. 

Bruce stood up, trying to reach Clark, but Clark took a step back. He didn’t even know why he bothered to try. It was clear that Clark was fed up. 

He needed to disappear. He needed to leave and think of a plan, a way to proceed. His identity was revealed, just like Clark’s was. He should definitely do something about it.

He would leave when Clark blinked and fix everything or he would hide in shame, and so he wouldn’t have to bear Clark’s gaze, which carried the weight of the world in sadness. 

But then he blinked, just to see that Clark beat him to it once he opened his eyes. It was less than a second, but Clark was no longer there. He felt slightly unsettled. He was the one always doing the disappearing, after all.

Bruce saw only Tim, standing by the doorframe and looking at Bruce with the only possible expression: sadness in equal amounts as disappointment.

Tim walked past Bruce, not saying a word, and reached Jack’s unconscious figure. Holding a gemstone in his hand, he recited an incantation, and the crystal started glowing. The unconscious man started becoming transparent, until he finally faded off. 

“What did you do?” 

Tim just shrugged. “Nobody can know Batman’s identity,” he said as the only explanation.

“Don’t play around, Red Robin, what did you do?”  Bruce insisted. He was blocking all emotions at the moment. 

“Nothing! It’s just temporary. We can get them out. I think. Hood probably can. I’ll put a note in the fridge.”

Chapter Text

Clark was on auto-pilot as he made his way far, far away from that man. His emotions were like a hurricane inside him, and he felt like he’d vomit if he wasn’t careful. All the stress was making him dizzy.

He picked up the jacket and the baseball cap he had abandoned before and walked the way back to the house. Even if he didn’t want to, he needed to retrieve his super costume, the clothes he had been wearing, his wallet and his phone. He stared at the ground as he walked, forgetting to blink, forgetting to breathe, because suddenly, something that had been a constant in his life for years had been shattered to a million pieces, and the man he loved and trusted with the passion of a thousand suns felt like a stranger.

The whole way back was a tiny process of grief itself. At first, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Everything felt like a nightmare he’d wake up from at any moment, but in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t. And then he told himself it was fine. Bruno- Bruce had made his choices and now it was up to him to act. He was fine. Things were clearly not going well anyway. He wouldn’t suffer more than he already did. 

And then the whole weight of the events dawned on him. He felt crushed in a way he had never felt before. Bruce had taken the most random and stupid way out of telling him his identity and for what? What did he gain with that? He only managed to show Clark the extent of his distrust, and that… hurt. 

What had he ever done to make Bruce distrust him so much? So much that the man was willing to let everything —their whole relationship— go down in flames for the sake of keeping his secret. It angered him. 

Had all that meant so little for Bruce? Clark was willing to do everything for him. He was there for his highs and lows, despite not knowing the other side of Batman. He thought it wasn’t necessary, he thought they already knew each other’s souls enough. Clearly, Batman didn’t feel the same. Apparently, Clark had not been enough.

Maybe he was asking too much. After all, it was about his privacy, and his family’s privacy. Who was he to intrude in that? Just a man- no, a person- no, someone- no, a partner. He was his partner, for goodness’ sake. Though, in all honesty, could he really say he would accept it right away if Batman had told him he was Bruce Wayne? He’d probably pin it down to a joke at first. What was his opinion of Bruce Wayne? All mild and vague. Clark would’ve liked to see what else there was to that man.

But Bruno- Bruce never gave him the chance. Now he’d go the rest of his life not knowing.   

He stopped on his tracks, barely managing to dodge a lamppost in his way. It’s not like it would harm him, but he wasn’t in the mood to topple public infrastructure. He snapped to reality and stopped chastising himself for thinking the wrong name over and over again. He lifted his gaze to realize he was already in the corner of the house’s street. He looked at it from afar and noticed there was an old little sedan parked on the doorway that wasn’t there that morning. Of course, his walking travesty had given them all perfect time to regroup, since there were only a few last details being taken care of.

Though, he could only hear one person inside. 

Clark didn’t even look at Bruce when he walked in. Bruce clearly didn’t know what to do or what to say, and Clark knew that reaction well, because he already knew that in those cases, Bruce would just do nothing, and say nothing. This time, he didn’t feel guilty for being bitter at that.

Really, how could he go so long without noticing the red flags? He almost wanted to laugh.

“Clark-” 

“Not now.”

Clark felt there was nothing more to say. He didn’t want to break into tears but he was close. If only a word was uttered between them, then the dam would break, and he couldn’t let Bruce know how much he had hurt him. He wouldn’t.

Clark’s things were ready for him to take and leave. His suit, now clean and without blood, as well as his normal clothes, were laid on the sofa, folded by clearly inexpert hands into loose bundles of fabric. It made sense. Bruce Wayne clearly didn’t fold his own clothes.

He grabbed his things and turned away. Bruce hadn’t uttered a word, his face as hard as stone. Should Clark even take the time to read into his emotions? The two of them were nothing, after all.

That was his choice. They were nothing.

“I’ll return your clothes the next time we meet in the Watchtower,” he said, controlling his voice. “And I’ll buy you a new shirt. I don’t think this one is… salvageable.”

Bruce’s brain was blank. His response was a reflex that he usually controlled well. Not this time, clearly.

“On a reporter’s salary?” His gruff tone of voice was hard to interpret. He regretted his choice the moment he started speaking, but he couldn’t stop.

Clark grimaced. So the shirt was expensive. He didn't look forward to that. “Whatever.” There was a new layer to that comment now. It made sense how Bruce thought his salary was so miserable even when he could get by just fine. 

»”Just to clarify,” he added. “We are… done.” His words were slow. If you listened really hard, there was a hint of hesitance, but Clark couldn’t afford that before someone like Bruce.

“... Why?” Bruce had the audacity to ask. 

A weary sigh escaped Clark’s lips. “Because there’s no trust between us,” he replied. “I… knew you were hiding something, but I didn’t tell you. Now I know what it was.”

“But-” Clark felt a visceral reaction in him when he heard Bruno- Bruce, trying to protest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce asked. His voice was a mix of indignation and confusion that only caused Clark more pain.

“I guess we both failed at communication,” Clark replied simply. He didn’t feel like saying more. He didn’t want to unload his anger on Bruce. The man had enough problems as it was.

“I will do better. I can explain everything.” Bruce was trying to salvage the situation somehow, even when he knew it was a lost cause. He had known it form the moment his mouth said the wrong name.

“Just… leave it like that,” Clark told him. He started walking towards the exit. “Anything else will just make it harder when we have to work together.”

»”Because... I’d still like to work with you.” That was Superman in him talking, Superman who worked with Batman like perfectly coordinated colleagues, co-workers that interacted like they knew each other’s most intimate secrets, even if they didn’t; Superman and Batman, closer than friends. Definitely not Clark’s inner yearning to see Batman again, even if he hadn’t even said goodbye yet, even if it had to be just as friends.

“Clark, if you’d told me…” Bruce didn’t know how to follow that up.

“Thank you for everything,” Clark said after a moment of silence. 

Soon, he was out and taking off into the sky. As soon as he was out of sight, he rubbed his eyes and kept on. Clark, who prided himself for being in touch with his emotions, didn’t cry a single tear about Bruce.

Bruce, who hadn’t cried in years, cried himself to sleep that night.

[...]

“Clark, I beg of you, you have to stop suffering for that man,” Lois told him. It had been days, and Clark still couldn’t bring himself to block Bruce’s number from his phone. It was probably a burner phone, but Clark expected some kind of message anyway. Everyone had noticed that lately, he looked like a machine, just working and checking his phone, and working, and checking every notification like he was expecting some kind of explanation, the revelation that this was just a misunderstanding. 

“Yes,” Jimmy seconded her. “We are just worried. You shouldn’t suffer so much for someone who clearly doesn’t value you as much as you deserve.”

Clark hadn’t told them everything. Sure, they knew he was Superman, and he was in an established relationship with Batman, but he hadn’t told them who Batman turned out to be, or specific details. He didn’t want to bad-mouth Batman either. Lois and Jimmy were already doing it for him. 

“Yeah, I never really liked it when he did this thing you told us…”

“Yes, it was very suspicious from the beginning…”

He knew they just wanted to make him feel better, but that didn’t really help. That was his relationship they were talking about. He just felt like an idiot. 

A week passed, then two, and Clark was losing all hope. Even though he had said it, he didn’t deliver the clothes himself, he had asked Flash to do it. 

The Justice League had caught up on what happened pretty quickly, mainly because Clark told Diana and Barry, and they told Dinah and Hal, and they told Oliver Queen, who told Martian Manhunter, and so on, like fire spreading over gunpowder. 

The way Batman kept going on his normal duties and Superman limited himself to his own city unsettled Clark. Had Bruce just… moved on like that? Was he not suffering as much as him? 

He was basing himself on what Diana and Hal told him, which wasn't much to begin with. They were being pretty cautious to not take sides.

“I told you, there are no sides. Things like these just happen,” Clark had told them. They weren’t so sure. Everyone dreaded the day Superman and Batman broke up because then, the Justice League could truly become divided if they ended in bad terms. Now, that day had come. It was up to the rest to maintain the delicate balance when two of their leaders were practically in estranged terms.

Clark didn’t want that to happen. He could be an adult and pretend nothing happened. It seemed to come so easily to Bruce. Two could play the game of memory loss and pretend their relationship and horrible breakup had never even happened. 

All that resolve was broken one fateful day.

“Special delivery for Clark Kent!” A deliveryman called out as him and a few more people poured out of the elevator to his floor. It was hard to see his face, since most of his presence was overshadowed by an absolutely massive bouquet of roses that he definitely had no space for in his office. He recognized the breed immediately. Kryptons.

The bouquet was followed by more people with more presents. Boxes and a variety of more item bouquets. What even was a fountain pen bouquet? A notebook bouquet of the same brand Clark enjoyed using? Could anything be turned into a bouquet? Where was he supposed to put them? Was that smell apple pie from the bakery he liked? Who even knew all this about him?

He was so confused.

And now all of his co-workers’ attention was on him. 

As the whole crew of delivery people tried fitting all the presents in the office, which now felt way too small, one last handed him a letter. It was a Gotham postcard in an envelope. The message was rather brief.

I am sorry. When I said I had an explanation, it was true.

I understand if you don’t want to see me again, but I want to ask you to meet.

I’d like to tell you everything that happened, so this can end without misunderstandings.

Sorry, again. 

B.W.

Chapter Text

“Master Bruce, for goodness’ sake—” 

Alfred was dangerously close to calling Superman himself and begging him to take Bruce back just so he could get Bruce out of bed for dinner. Many days had passed since the disastrous reveal, and the house was full of tension. Everyone was walking on eggshells around Bruce. It was a delicate situation, with Bruce pushing himself through the motions of his daily life and Justice League work. The most minimal thing could break that balance and send him spiraling just like the first day. Every day was a struggle of him burying himself in his work and then lying to rot on his bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his miserable choices, then rinse and repeat the next day.

Bruce had become a mess as quickly as a sandcastle crumbling, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He had chosen to lie, he had chosen to keep up the lie, and he felt bad because his fate had caught up to him faster than he expected. He had made a plan to make it last a few more months, at least. It was solid, and he was starting to warm up to that dynamic. Being out of the public spotlight for a while, with a person he loved, lying to them, and what kind of person did that make him? 

He felt tears prickling in his eyes again. They came so easily to him these days. Thinking about Clark? Tears. Thinking about himself? Tears. Thinking about his children? Tears. Thinking about Gotham? Tears. Thinking about his –now shredded– favorite shirt? More tears. He didn’t know what was happening to him. Once the dam was broken, it took him time to build it back up. 

His favorite shirt that Alfred had the consideration to bring him in case he wanted it when Bruce couldn’t even think about those things himself, as it so often happened. The shirt Clark had chosen to wear to execute his little rescue stunt and had offered to pay for on his reporter salary. It all spoke of love and care, and what could he even offer in return? He buried his face in the pillow. 

Nothing. There was nothing he could offer in return, because he was just like that. Always thinking about himself first, always forgetting the preferences of his loved ones, always prioritizing other things, things that, in retrospect, paled in comparison to the people in his life. 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred snapped his fingers close to Bruce’s ear to make him react once and for all. “Did you hear anything that I’ve just said?”

The butler was worried. Of course, he had seen Bruce go through hell and back, but it never got easier to see him suffer. All the instances of «tough love» he had to exercise on frequent occasions were because he just wanted the best for Bruce, just like now.

“I said you must get up and take a shower,” Alfred said, insisting with the request he had been making since the night before. This time, he didn’t have the intention of cutting Bruce any slack. “Then you will stop crying and look for a solution to your problems.”

Bruce looked at Alfred over his shoulders. His eyes were narrowed in a rebellious glare to his father figure, like he was challenging him or maybe reproaching him for asking too much of him. Alfred didn’t relent. He never relented; not when Bruce was a child, not when he was a teen, and certainly much less now. This time, there was a tone of finality. Alfred wouldn’t ask again.

Bruce took his sweet time, but he pushed himself into a sitting position by the edge of the mattress, the covers sliding off his shoulders. He felt so tired, his body too heavy to carry.

“Come to the dining room for lunch afterwards,” Alfred ordered him. “And while you do all that, think of a way to fix this. Crying is not going to solve anything.”

Bruce stayed sitting on the bed as Alfred finally left, staring at a stray slipper on the floor for who knows how long. He was fighting with himself for some self motivation. He had been through worse than heartbreak. He could cope with it. He was going to get himself together and go out there and fight the whole world if necessary.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pushed himself off the bed to take a shower. He felt like a zombie, a dead body walking, but he slowly managed to concentrate his little energy into formulating any possible idea. Yes, he might have ruined everything, but he tried to focus on what he could do. He had to do one last attempt, not for him, but for Clark.

He was not deluded. He knew that his romantic relationship with Clark had died, but just because it was dead, it didn’t mean he was going to leave it to rot with unsaid explanations and cold distance. He had a firm belief that even after everything, this could have a more dignified ending than… whatever the scene at that house was.

He was the damn Bruce Wayne. He was a mess, but nobody had to see that. He had the money, he had the charisma, as fabricated as it was, and he had the skill. 

He searched his brain for answers. What was he supposed to do? He’d do it, and better. 

He had to show that he cared, that he was sorry and regretted everything, he had to show acceptance and gracefully accept whatever Clark told him, no matter how it hurt, then he couldn’t show vulnerability, he wouldn’t put the weight of his emotions on Clark anymore. 

Now, how did he do it?

His history with relationships was… turbulent, to say the least. His learning moments were more like traumatic experiences, and this was a lot different anyway. What would Clark want? 

He got dressed and walked out of his room. He was still lethargic, but he didn’t miss the soft thud of footsteps on carpet that would’ve probably gone unheard by others. 

He smiled softly and intercepted Damian just as the boy was turning the corner, ruffling his hair from behind his back. Damian startled, but he had also heard his father’s distinct footsteps. He looked back at Bruce with narrowed eyes. Thou darest touch mine hair?

Bruce smiled and retracted his hand, shrugging as a form of mild mannered apology.

The two walked down the stairs together. Damian offered a brief explanation of the night’s menu and Bruce listened attentively. 

He took a deep breath. These little casual words were grounding him. At that moment, he couldn’t believe how he lost sight of everything so badly. His family was there. He wasn’t alone. It was not too late to show that he cared. 

He was getting a few ideas already.

[...]

Bruce had enacted the first step of his elaborate plan. The special deliveries were done in an ambiguous but specific way, in which only Clark would be able to deduce who they were from and why they were sent to him. It was a big and public gesture in Bruce’s very own romantic language. People were supposed to like those. 

After he made sure all the deliveries were done, he sent Clark a text. He didn’t really specify the place and time of their meeting in his little letter, he needed to plan it with Clark.

If Clark wanted to meet him at all.

He hoped he was not blocked when he texted.

Hi

17:43

There was no immediate response. He had planned what he would say, but he was hesitating at the last minute.

I just wanted to ask if you want to meet at all. I don’t want to ask for forgiveness, I just want us to have proper closure, and I wish to offer you a sincere apology for the damage I’ve done. 

17:45

The messages were delivered, which meant he wasn’t blocked. That gave him a little hope, at least. 

Meanwhile, Clark wished he had blocked the damn number. He should’ve listened to Lois when she said “blocked people can’t text you”, but even then, Bruce would’ve probably found a way around that. 

He groaned as he stared at the text on his screen. It was very little information, and even those little words made his heart twist from pain in his chest. He had made clear what he thought when he had broken up with Bruce. Had that not been enough? What else did Bruce want from him? 

Clark was tired. He didn’t know if he would survive the encounter. Just the thought of Bruce threatened to make his heart stop, worse than every kryptonite or magic spell ever could. 

But another part of him, one, very deep inside him, said something different. Bruce might deserve the benefit of the doubt , it whispered. 

After all, it’s not like Clark really wanted to pull away. It was Bruce who had pushed him away, with his distrust and deceit and –

He sighed. From the pain, a small hope bloomed in his heart, the hope for an explanation. He became almost numb, overpowered by the need for answers.

Sure. Time and place?

19:32

It was a cold, impersonal text. Clark thought of it as a little revenge. Of course, since he didn’t include any sticker or emoticon in his text, and kept the words to the minimum, Bruce would easily understand the magnitude of Clark’s anger.

[...]

“Is everything alright, Master Bruce? I heard the notification.”

“He’s extremely angry at me, Alfred, and I don’t blame him.”

“Is that so? Did he say anything in the text?”

“He didn’t put a smiley face at the end of the message as he always does.”

“Oh dear.”

[...]

Of course the meeting was in a fancy restaurant, the fanciest in Metropolis, the top of a skyscraper. “My treat,” Bruce had assured him, and Clark intended to hold him up to it. It was definitely not in the price range Clark could cover with his “reporter’s salary”. The expression made his face sour every time he remembered it. It had a different connotation now that he knew the comparison was a reporter’s salary against billions of dollars.

The hostess greeted him and guided him into an empty restaurant. The place was deserted, with only one booth table on the far corner occupied, a single man sat there, face serious and contemplative. There was soft music playing in the background. 

Clark stopped in his tracks for a moment. Could he really do this? His instincts were telling him to run in the opposite direction, to escape the heartache that was to come. Bruce’s heartbeat rang in his ears, not as steady as usual. Bruce’s heart beat quickly and his breathing was shallow, clear markings for anxiety that Bruce could hide well from anyone else who wasn’t Clark Kent.

Clark’s body moved on its own before he could think about it. He still hadn’t gotten rid of the reflex that pushed him to Bruce’s side every time he thought Batman might be in distress, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever get rid of it. 

Bruce lifted his gaze when he heard Clark approaching, but didn't say a word. It was just a few days, but he felt like he hadn’t seen Clark’s face in years. He basked in the sight like it was sunshine, warming him up to the bone. 

Bruce was about to speak up, but Clark beat him to it. 

“You didn’t have to rent out the whole restaurant,” he told him. Clark was avoiding Bruce’s gaze, looking at their lavish surroundings instead. 

“I thought it would be easier that way,” Bruce replied. He had the dignity to sound slightly awkward. 

For a moment, they didn’t say anything. A waiter reacted quickly and immediately brought them the menus, with an extremely polite service attitude that baffled Clark a little. The whole thing seemed to be natural for Bruce. Clark could barely follow the few words he exchanged with the waiter. Before he knew it, they had two glasses of water with exactly one raspberry, one blueberry, one strawberry slice and a lonely peppermint leaf floating by, neatly placed in a geometrically proportional arrangement. How did they even do that? Who had even thought of designer water of all things? Along with an arrangement of warm, moist towels he had only seen in movies. Those were for hands, right?

Clark felt like a bull in a crystal shop. The feeling mostly came from the sensation that his working class mannerisms will definitely wreck the precise and delicate clockwork that ran this place. 

Clark took the glass and sipped from it, remembering all the manners lessons his parents had ever told him. Elbows off the table, straight back, napkin neat on his lap. And what else?

Both of them were still gathering the courage to speak up. Clark lifted the menu, only to mortifyingly realize costs weren’t listed there. What kind of crazy world had he stepped into, where you didn’t check the cost of what you were ordering, even for mild curiosity?

He was already starting to regret it. 

He looked over at the menu, debating if he should order anything or not, knowing he might have to leave without eating anything if things got bad.

“I owe you an explanation,” Bruce spoke up. “And an apology.”

Clark sighed, nodding in acceptance of his fate: he’d have this conversation, leave, and die from a heart attack on the street. The pain in his chest that confirmed it.

“Go ahead,” Clark replied. His voice was kinder than he would’ve liked. He wanted to be cold and angry, but how could he? Despite his feelings, that was not how he was. He couldn't speak cruelly.

Bruce’s mind was running a mile a minute. The script he had prepared had derailed almost immediately. He had expected a snarky remark, as he knew Clark wasn’t above that, or an indifferent response, like that day at the house. When he prepared the script, he had forgotten how soft Clark could be, even with those who hurt him. 

“I… I know what I did was wrong,” Bruce continued, “and I don’t expect forgiveness for it. I hurt you and… I am sorry.”

There was another moment of silence. Clark already knew that. Bruce had said it before. He wanted to hear something he hadn’t already heard. 

“It all started because I really, really wanted to share… everything with you, and I took the impulsive decision to show you who I was. I thought you would figure it out at the event, but it turns out it was more complicated than that.”

»”When you didn’t recognize me, I panicked, but I thought it could be a chance,” he continued. “To be honest, the public’s concept of Bruce Wayne is not exactly…” Bruce paused for a moment to say the right words. “... the best to have a relationship with.”

It took a lot from Bruce to come clean like this. It didn’t help that Clark was silent as a tomb. Or maybe it did. He didn’t even know what he wanted Clark to say or do. He knew people mocked Bruce Wayne, and he was fine with it, but Clark? He didn’t think he could deal with Clark doing so.

“So I… used all my possible resources to… manipulate the situation,” Bruce added. “I wanted to keep things as they were, and not put you at risk, not put anyone at risk. I thought I could make it last a little more, until you inevitably figured it out, but I should’ve known you would be smarter than that. You realized something was wrong quickly. It was all my fault. You… you were never the problem, Clark.” 

He wanted Clark to know that every bad thing that had happened was on him. He hadn’t been good enough to protect Clark, and he hadn’t been good enough to even trust Clark. He had committed the same sin he was often guilty of, and was taking responsibility for it. 

Clark didn’t quite see it that way, though. 

The kryptonian swallowed hard and took a deep breath before he spoke. “So that’s the reason?” He asked, feeling anger bubbling up inside him. Was it really anger? It could also be frustration, hurt, remorse. Clark didn’t have the time to think about it. “You really flatter me,” he said, his voice a touch more cutting than before. “Thank you for… thinking I’m smart.”

The world had become utterly bizarre for Clark in so little time. Everything seemed ridiculously laughable at the moment. There were three different forks beside his plate (unnecessary), there were five fingers on each of his hands (random number) and Bruce Wayne was sitting in front of him, confessing to have manipulated the situation at one of the most important moments of their relationship, which they’ve had for years (practically impossible).

He sighed, fighting the way his lips threatened to quirk into a grimace. “Yes, it definitely makes me feel better. It wasn’t my fault, I was just… a fool, and it’s not my fault to be a fool.”

Clark started bouncing his leg like he was spamming a button in some videogame. There was no other peaceful outlet for the sudden anxiety that washed over him.

“Is that why you called me? Why you did that grand gesture in my office?” He asked, his words quick and direct. “I can see this took a lot of you to even admit, but it baffles me. I am sorry.” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose. 

The floor creaked under the pressure, so Clark decided it was time to leave. He grabbed his things and pushed himself off the seat.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He said. If he stayed for a minute longer, he’d say things he would regret. He walked towards the exit, not looking back.

Bruce’s eyes widened when he saw that. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. This was not what he wanted. He didn’t want to hurt Clark. He never wanted to do anything to harm him, but it seems like he just couldn’t stop doing it. 

“No, please, wait.” Bruce had also stood up from his seat and reached Clark with quick steps, taking his wrist to stop him from going further.

Clark turned his head around slowly, like he couldn’t believe Bruce had just done that. The audacity of this man. 

“What?” Clark asked. “What else do you want to say?” He was exasperated, desperate to escape from the pain. “How do you intend to fix this trainwreck?”

Despite the anger and frustration, Clark’s lower lip started trembling slightly, threatening tears. How could Bruno… Bruce, even try to fix everything? How did he even dare? This was beyond fixing. The two were just hopeless. They thought they had cheated the code: by being two superheroes, trusting each other, working together, they thought they’d broken the curse that a hero would be eternally damned to lose the people they love, and now they were reaping the results, the rotten at the core results. They were not compatible from the beginning. How could Clark be so- so- hopeful and-

His train of thought was interrupted by more words.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said again. “I am embarrassed. Of who I am.”

Clark stopped everything for a minute. That was new. Someone like Bruce Wayne, Batman, embarrassed? Of what? He couldn’t understand.

“What?” The word escaped him. He needed to know more. 

Bruce’s grip tightened on Clark’s wrist. “Everyone knows Bruce Wayne is dumb, more of a pretty face than a mastermind, and I’m fine with it, I let them think all that, but… I couldn’t cope with the thought of you thinking that as well.”

»”I should’ve known earlier that was stupid of me to think,” he said, looking down. “Even when I was bad mouthing Bruce Wayne, that day at the café, the first thing you did was thinking Bruce Wayne seemed like a good guy, despite everything.”

When he was sure Clark wouldn’t leave if he let go of his wrist, Bruce took his hand back.

“Bruce Wayne is… dangerous for those who are not in the same circles,” Bruce tried explaining. “This kind of fame eats people who aren’t used to it alive. If you were seen dating Bruce Wayne, then you’d be at risk. People close to me get kidnapped often. The internet is crazy. What about your family, too? They’d be at risk as well, and it would be my fault.”

The genuine expression on Bruce’s face calmed the fire of Clark’s anger, and even Clark felt relieved, because it was burning him. 

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment. He stepped towards the table again and sat down. 

He wasn't really sure about anything, but his Ma had told him something ever since he was a child. 

No matter the situation, no matter the problem, everything has a solution, you just have to be patient enough to look for it. 

Sometimes, the solution was to leave. Sometimes, the solution was to stay, and patiently look through the rubble. 

“I think…” Clark started saying. “We should start again.” 

Bruce was stunned. He followed Clark from behind and sat in front of him again. “Start… again?”

Clark nodded. "We cannot forget what happened but… We can start again, fixing the mistakes made along the way.”

Bruce couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Clark was… giving him another chance. He was getting another chance. And he was terrified. He didn’t know what to do with this new chance. 

“Clark, but…” He hesitated, the shock apparent in his expression. This was not in his script. “But… Are you sure?”

After everything he had said, after his confessions, after he knew the risks, after Bruce had shown him all his flaws and how much those flaws hurt the ones around him… He was getting another chance. 

“Yes,” Clark confirmed. “In… other settings… we work together and have our backs mutually. The care is the same in this setting, and I know it because… I still love you.”

Bruce bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from shedding a tear. “I love you, too.” 

After so much tension, Clark sighed and then smiled at Bruce. Over the table, he extended his hand for a handshake. Bruce took a moment to understand but he took Clark’s hand and shook it. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time already, but I want to tell you my name. I’m Clark Kent. I work at the Daily Planet as a reporter.”

Bruce nodded, and smiled a little, too. He thought of how he’d present himself, and chose to be kind to himself. “My name is Bruce Wayne. You might’ve heard of me from some gossip gazette, but my job is to manage the Wayne Foundation. I’m glad to finally meet like this.” 

“I’m glad, too,” Clark responded. “Do you come here often?” He gestured around to the fancy restaurant.

“Not really.” Bruce replied, shaking his head. “I don’t come to Metropolis too often, but I want to. From now on.”

When he saw the tension and fight had calmed down, their waiter finally came around the table. “Are you ready to order, gentlemen?”

Clark spoke up first. “Do you have beef bourguignon?” He asked. 

“Even if they don’t have it on the menu, we can have it prepared,” Bruce said. His voice had morphed into a tone that by itself, screamed the authority of millions of dollars, despite the lighthearted situation. 

Still, Clark could see it in a new light now. Bruce Wayne was there, but he knew things about him no one else did, and he would keep learning more.