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Chapter Text

The rain drummed steadily against the pavement of Gotham’s East End, turning the cracked asphalt into a mirror of city lights. Bruce Wayne sat alone at the polished mahogany bar of The Gotham Royale, a dimly lit but upscale lounge tucked away from the usual nightlife crowd. He swirled a glass of bourbon in his hand, his tuxedo immaculate despite the dreary weather outside. His sharp blue eyes moved casually over the room, scanning the patrons with the same instinctual vigilance he always carried, though he gave off the effortless charm of a man who had never had a worry in his life.

The truth, of course, was far from that.

Tonight had been another one of those tedious charity galas. Lavish, excessive, and filled with people who spent millions to be seen as generous while sipping champagne worth more than the donations they gave. Bruce had played his part—smiling, shaking hands, dodging conversations about Wayne Enterprises—and had slipped away the moment he could. He didn’t need to be there anymore; the night had served its purpose.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. Deep, steady, and confident.

“Mind if I sit?”

Bruce glanced to his right. A tall man, broad-shouldered and built like a football player, stood there holding a glass of what looked like club soda. He was dressed in a simple navy suit, his tie loosened as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in it. His dark hair had an unruly curl to it, and behind his glasses, his eyes were a striking shade of blue. Something about him seemed out of place.

Bruce had spent enough time reading people to know when someone didn’t quite belong. And this man, despite his politeness, didn’t fit here.

Bruce smirked and gestured to the empty seat. “Be my guest.”

The man sat down, setting his glass on the bar. He exhaled, glancing around before shaking his head. “Gotham’s… different than I expected.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “Not a fan?”

The man chuckled, though there was something thoughtful in his tone. “Not exactly. It’s just… I’ve been here before, but never quite like this. First time visiting in a while.” He extended a hand. “Clark Kent.”

Bruce shook it. A firm grip. Stronger than he expected.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Clark’s brow lifted slightly. “Wayne… as in Wayne Enterprises?”

Bruce offered a practiced smile. “That’s the one.”

“Huh.” Clark took a sip of his drink. “Guess that makes you one of Gotham’s most famous faces.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, studying him. “And you? Let me guess, Metropolis?”

Clark blinked. “How’d you—?”

Bruce smirked. “The way you talk about Gotham. Like an outsider. You’re not a tourist, but you’re seeing it from the outside in. Not many places left that look at Gotham like that, except Metropolis.”

Clark gave a slow nod, impressed. “You’re good.”

Bruce shrugged. “I try.” He took another sip of his drink. “What brings you to Gotham, Mr. Kent?”

Clark hesitated for a beat before answering. “Work.”

“Journalist?”

Clark blinked again. “You really are good.”

Bruce chuckled. “It’s a skill. Plus, I’ve read some of your pieces. Daily Planet , right?”

Clark smiled modestly. “Yeah. Guilty as charged.”

Bruce leaned back slightly, turning his glass in his fingers. “So, what story are you after? Corrupt officials? The crime families? The so-called ‘Bat’?”

Clark’s expression didn’t change, but Bruce noticed the slight shift in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed at the last mention. Interesting.

Clark sighed. “Something like that. Gotham has a… complicated reputation.”

Bruce smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

Clark studied him for a moment. “And you? You live here, but you don’t seem like the type who just accepts things the way they are.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

Clark gestured vaguely. “You’re sitting in a bar, alone, after attending a charity gala that, from what I’ve read, you personally fund almost every year. Most billionaires don’t bother with that unless they care. Or at least, want to look like they do.”

Bruce chuckled. “And which do you think I am?”

Clark considered for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Bruce stared at him. The usual social dances he played with people, the effortless charm, the smooth misdirections, weren’t working the way they usually did. Clark Kent wasn’t just polite; he was observant. Interesting.

Bruce took another sip of his drink. “Well, Mr. Kent, I guess you’ll just have to stick around Gotham long enough to figure it out.”

Clark smirked. “Maybe I will.”

The two men sat there, sharing a moment of quiet in the dim glow of the bar, two strangers with no idea just how much they would come to mean to each other—or the world.

—-——————

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, enclosing Bruce in the dim, silent space as he descended beneath Wayne Manor. The soft hum of the hidden mechanisms echoed in his ears, a familiar lull before the real work began.

He exhaled, leaning against the back of the elevator, loosening the tie around his neck as he thought about the conversation he’d just had.

Clark Kent.

He had met thousands of people over the years—socialites, politicians, criminals in business suits—but there was something different about Kent. Something Bruce couldn’t quite place.

For one, Clark was sharp. Not in the way reporters usually were, prying and fishing for angles, but in a way that felt intuitive. He observed more than he asked, and when he did speak, his words carried weight, deliberate but unassuming. The way he looked at Gotham, it wasn’t judgmental, like most outsiders. It was curious.

That alone had put Bruce on edge.

The elevator doors opened with a muted chime, revealing the Batcave in all its shadowed enormity. The towering rock walls swallowed the glow of the computer monitors, and the waterfall outside roared faintly in the distance. Alfred was waiting at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, his expression knowing.

“Back early,” he observed, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Bruce let out a breath and pulled off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. “I left the gala early.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Shocking.”

Bruce ignored the jab as he made his way toward the Batcomputer. The screens blinked to life, flooding the cave with data on Gotham’s current criminal activity. He scrolled absently through the reports, but his mind wasn’t entirely on them.

Alfred, ever perceptive, caught on. “Something on your mind, sir?”

Bruce hesitated for a beat before answering. “I met a journalist tonight.”

Alfred made a noise of vague approval. “And he survived the encounter? How impressive.”

Bruce shot him a dry look before turning back to the screen. “Clark Kent. Daily Planet.”

Alfred hummed. “Ah, a Metropolis man. I imagine the brightness of his fair city made our Gotham appear rather dreary.”

“He wasn’t like that,” Bruce muttered. “Didn’t look down on it. Just… studied it. Studied me.”

Alfred tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “How unsettling.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw. “He asked questions, but not the ones I expected. He wasn’t trying to dig up dirt. It felt like he was trying to understand something.”

“Perhaps he’s just a good journalist,” Alfred offered. “Not everyone is out to expose you, Master Wayne.”

Bruce didn’t respond. That was the thing, Clark felt genuine. But that was also what bothered him. Most people wore their intentions on their sleeves, whether they realized it or not. 

Bruce stood, shaking off the thought. He had work to do. Clark Kent was just another reporter passing through Gotham. Nothing more.

He moved toward the suit display, letting his focus shift to the night ahead. The Batsuit stood tall, waiting—black Kevlar, reinforced plating, the cowl resting in place above the armor like a second skin he hadn’t yet put on. As he peeled off his dress shirt and reached for the bodysuit underneath, Alfred’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Should I be concerned?”

Bruce paused. “About what?”

“You. Thinking about a journalist while getting ready for patrol.”

Bruce shot him an exasperated look. Alfred smirked, unshaken. “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe The Daily Planet is involved in criminal activity.”

Bruce scoffed. “He’s just… odd.”

Alfred hummed again, entirely unconvinced. “Odd indeed.”

Bruce pulled the cowl over his head, letting the familiar weight settle around him, transforming him from the man Clark Kent had met into something else entirely.

Whoever Kent was, it didn’t matter.

Bruce had work to do.

—-——————

Clark stepped into the bustling newsroom of the Daily Planet, adjusting his glasses as the city’s heartbeat filled the space around him. Phones rang, reporters shouted over each other, and the scent of coffee, both fresh and burnt, lingered in the air.

He weaved through the chaos with practiced ease, a folder tucked under his arm, before stopping at the desk of one person who could make sense of it all.

Lois Lane barely looked up from her laptop as she typed furiously. “If you’re about to tell me you wrote something before deadline, I might die of shock.”

Clark smirked and leaned against her desk. “I met Bruce Wayne last night.”

That got her attention. Lois paused mid-keystroke and finally looked at him. “Excuse me?”

Clark set the folder down and folded his arms. “Ran into him at some high-end bar after one of his charity events. Talked for a bit.”

Lois arched an eyebrow. “And you just happened to stumble into a bar with Gotham’s most infamous billionaire?”

Clark shrugged. “Didn’t plan it. He was just there.”

Lois closed her laptop, giving him her full attention now. “And?”

Clark hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he expected from Wayne—arrogance, shallowness, maybe even that practiced charm most billionaires used when they wanted something. But Wayne had been different. Reserved, but sharp. Calculating, but not in a way that felt malicious. 

“He’s interesting,” Clark admitted. “Not what I expected. He plays the role of the billionaire well, but I don’t think that’s who he really is.”

Lois exhaled sharply and leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, well, don’t get too curious.”

Clark frowned. “Why?”

Lois gave him a pointed look. “Bruce Wayne is Gotham. And Gotham chews people up and spits them out.” She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip before adding, “He’s not just some rich playboy, Clark. You dig too deep into that guy, and you might not like what you find.”

Clark studied her. “You think he’s dangerous?”

Lois scoffed. “I know he’s dangerous.” She set her coffee down and crossed her arms. “No one who survives in Gotham at that level is clean. The Wayne family may have had a golden reputation once, but Bruce? There’s something off about him. I don’t know what it is, but I know better than to go poking around trying to find out.”

Clark considered her words. He trusted Lois’ instincts, she was rarely wrong about people. But something about Wayne gnawed at him. 

“He just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoys being who he’s supposed to be,” Clark said finally.

Lois sighed. “You want him to be complicated. But, Clark, he’s a billionaire with more money than he could ever spend. Whether he’s got skeletons in his closet or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not our kind of people.”

Clark pushed his glasses up. “Maybe.”

Lois eyed him, then rolled her eyes. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

Clark gave a sheepish smile. “I am a journalist.”

Lois pointed a warning finger at him. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’ve stepped into something bigger than you can handle.”

Clark chuckled. If only she knew.

Her words lingered as he sat at his desk and opened his laptop.

There was something about Bruce Wayne. And for better or worse, Clark intended to find out what it was.

Chapter Text

The underground facility was still under construction, wires hanging from unfinished walls, the polished floors barely concealing the scent of fresh steel and reinforced concrete. It would eventually be the meeting place for the world’s most powerful heroes, if they could all agree on what exactly that meant.

Superman stood with his arms crossed, his cape shifting slightly in the artificial breeze of the ventilation system. He had been to a hundred high-tech facilities, but this one felt different. Not because of its design, but because of the people inside it.

The so-called Justice League was still in its infancy. A gathering of powerhouses who had barely fought side by side, much less learned to trust each other. Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter were strong allies, but strangers in many ways. They were still feeling each other out, deciding if this alliance was even possible.

And then, there was him.

Superman heard him before he saw him. A the barely perceptible shift in air pressure as a shadow detached from the dimly lit corridor.

Batman.

Superman kept his stance relaxed, but his senses sharpened immediately. The man moved like a ghost, his dark figure barely making a sound. The armor was sleek but practical, more tactical than flashy. His cowl left only his mouth and jaw visible, and even that was carefully composed. The man behind the mask was controlled, tightly wound, precise, deliberate in a way that set him apart from everyone else in the room.

Superman had read about Gotham’s infamous vigilante, but the reports never did justice to the sheer presence the man carried.

“Nice of you to join us,” Superman said, breaking the silence.

Batman’s eyes—white slits in the darkness of his cowl—shifted toward him. “I didn’t come here to make friends.”

Superman arched a brow. “That’s a shame. I hear we’re supposed to be teammates.”

Batman didn’t react. He simply moved past him, scanning the room as if memorizing every detail. He didn’t fidget, didn’t hesitate. Just assessed.

Superman turned, watching him. “You don’t trust us.”

Batman finally met his gaze. “I don’t trust you.”

The room fell into a brief silence. Wonder Woman and Aquaman exchanged glances, and Flash looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Superman narrowed his eyes slightly. “I haven’t given you a reason not to.”

Batman tilted his head slightly. “Not yet.”

Superman sighed and crossed his arms. “You think I’m a threat.”

“I know you’re a threat,” Batman said, his voice level but sharp. “I make it my business to assess risk. And you? You’re the biggest risk in the room.”

Superman let out a humorless chuckle. “And what exactly makes me so dangerous?”

Batman stepped closer. Most men hesitated before getting in Superman’s space, but Batman didn’t flinch. “You’re powerful enough to wipe out this entire planet. You could burn a city to the ground in seconds. And you expect me to just take it on faith that you won’t?”

Superman met his gaze without backing down. “I fight to protect this world.”

Batman’s voice remained cold. “For now.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the concrete surrounding them.

Superman clenched his jaw. He had dealt with suspicion before, but this was something else. This wasn’t fear. This wasn’t paranoia.

This was calculated distrust.

And yet, something about Batman’s approach felt familiar. It wasn’t just suspicion for the sake of it. It was deeper. More personal.

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Superman asked.

Batman didn’t answer.

Wonder Woman finally spoke, stepping between them. “Enough. We didn’t come here to fight each other.” She looked pointedly at Batman. “If we’re going to work together, we need trust.”

Batman didn’t respond, but his silence was answer enough.

Superman exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. “You can watch me all you want. Keep your files, run your surveillance, prepare for the worst.” He stepped forward, just enough to make his point. “But you’d better realize something, Batman. If I wanted to hurt this world, no one would stop me.”

For the first time, Batman smirked, just slightly.

“Glad we understand each other,” he said.

Superman stared at him for a moment longer before stepping back. He had faced warlords, monsters, and gods, but somehow, this man, this stubborn, infuriating, mortal man, was already under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

This was going to be interesting.

—-——————

Gotham City, East End

The rain fell in heavy sheets, turning the rooftops slick and the alleyways into rivers of filth. The glow of neon signs reflected off puddles, casting distorted colors across the dark streets. It was the kind of night where crime thrived, where Gotham’s underbelly felt untouchable.

Batman moved like a shadow, his cape trailing behind him as he perched on the edge of a crumbling rooftop. His eyes, concealed beneath the cowl, tracked the warehouse across the street, the supposed site of a major arms deal between the Maroni crime family and an unknown supplier.

The mission had been his—his city, his case.

And then Superman had shown up.

A gust of wind signaled his arrival before his voice did. “You know, there’s this thing called asking for help instead of sending cryptic messages to Wonder Woman.”

Batman didn’t look away from the warehouse. “And there’s this thing called stealth.”

Superman landed lightly beside him, arms crossed, cape billowing in the wind. “Stealth doesn’t do much when you can hear their heartbeats from a mile away.”

Batman turned slightly, his expression unreadable.

Superman sighed. “So, what’s the plan?”

Batman reached into his belt, pulling out a small drone. “The Maronis are buying from an unknown supplier. I need to identify who’s running the sale before we move in.”

Superman scanned the building with his x-ray vision. “Looks like fifteen men inside. Maroni’s people are armed, but the suppliers, they’re different. Armor, military-grade weapons. Definitely not street-level thugs.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “No insignia?”

“No. But they’re disciplined.” Superman frowned. “They don’t act like hired muscle. They’re guarding the shipment like it’s something important.”

Batman tapped the side of his cowl, bringing up a tactical overlay. “That changes things. If they’re ex-military or something worse, we need to neutralize them fast.”

Superman smiled. “Finally, something we agree on.”

Batman ignored him. He pulled a grapple gun from his belt and aimed it at a nearby ledge. “I’ll go in through the rafters, take out their communications. You—”

Superman cut him off. “Fly in, disarm them before they can react, and make sure no one gets hurt.”

Batman shot him a look. “No killing.”

Superman’s expression hardened. “I don’t kill.”

Batman stared at him for a moment longer, as if testing the truth of those words. Then, with a swift movement, he fired the grapple and disappeared into the shadows.

Superman exhaled and muttered to himself, “Not even a good luck.”

Then, he moved.

Inside the warehouse, the deal was already underway. Maroni himself stood in the center, flanked by his men. Across from him, a squad of masked mercenaries guarded heavy black crates.

“This better be the good stuff,” Maroni grumbled, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. “Last shipment was a joke.”

The lead mercenary didn’t flinch. “Everything we supply is battlefield-tested. If you don’t like it, you’re free to go back to your street-corner garbage.”

Maroni sneered. “Big talk for a guy in a ski mask.”

The mercenary took a step forward. “You want this shipment or not?”

The tension thickened. Then, the lights cut out. A thud echoed through the rafters. A voice, low and cold, broke the silence.

“You should’ve stayed home, Maroni.”

Panic set in immediately. Maroni’s men scrambled for their weapons, but something moved in the darkness. A fist struck. A gun clattered to the floor. A grunt, then a body hitting concrete.

Then—

CRASH!

The roof exploded inward as Superman dropped into the center of the warehouse. The impact sent crates flying, the shockwave knocking several men off their feet.

One of the mercenaries raised a rifle, Superman grabbed it and crushed the barrel like paper.

“Don’t,” he said simply.

Chaos erupted. Maroni bolted for the exit, but Batman dropped from the shadows, landing directly in his path. A quick, precise strike sent the crime boss sprawling.

Meanwhile, Superman made quick work of the mercenaries. They fired, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. He blurred forward, disarming them one by one, their weapons crumpling under his grip.

Batman moved with surgical precision, taking out Maroni’s remaining men before they could even fire a shot. He swept one’s legs, elbowed another in the ribs, then used a grapple line to yank a fleeing thug off his feet.

In less than sixty seconds, it was over.

Superman exhaled, straightening as he surveyed the wreckage. “Efficient.”

Batman knelt beside one of the crates, prying it open. His expression darkened.

Superman stepped closer. “What is it?”

Batman lifted a sleek, metallic weapon, black with glowing blue energy coursing through it. Not military. Not standard.

“This wasn’t just an arms deal,” Batman murmured. “This is alien tech.”

Superman’s stomach tightened.

“Which means,” Batman continued, standing, “we have a bigger problem.”

Superman glanced down at the unconscious mercenaries. “Whoever they are, they’re not just weapons dealers.”

Batman turned toward him, eyes sharp. “No.” He examined the weapon one more time before muttering, “Someone is preparing for war.”

Superman met his gaze.

Batman stood over the unconscious mercenaries, his gloved fingers tightening around the alien weapon. The sleek, dark metal was smooth to the touch, but the glowing circuitry pulsed beneath its surface, alive with unfamiliar energy.

This was not Gotham’s usual brand of crime.

Superman stepped beside him, arms crossed. “Recognize it?”

Batman turned the weapon in his hand, eyes narrowed. “Not exactly. But I’ve seen similar designs before.”

Superman frowned. “Apokoliptian?”

Batman shook his head. “No. If it was, we’d already be dealing with something a lot worse.” He knelt, examining the weapon more closely. “This is different. Someone reverse-engineered this.”

Superman’s jaw tightened. “That means someone on Earth has access to off-world technology.”

Batman glanced at him. “And the resources to mass-produce it.”

They both looked at the crates scattered around the warehouse. This wasn’t some isolated deal. This was supply-chain level.

Batman stood, his mind already assembling possibilities. “We need to trace these weapons back to their source.”

Superman exhaled. “I’ll take one back to the Fortress. See if I can analyze its origins.”

Batman didn’t argue, but his gaze lingered on Superman. “You’ve dealt with tech like this before?”

Superman nodded. “Not this exact type, but weapons made from Kryptonian and other alien materials? Yeah. And they’re almost always bad news.”

Batman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He knew that already. It was why he was suspicious.

Superman could tell. “You still don’t trust me.”

Batman met his gaze. “I trust your intentions.”

Superman’s brow arched. “But?”

Batman took a step closer. “But power like yours—unchecked—always has consequences.” He gestured toward the wrecked warehouse. “This is what happens when people get their hands on things they don’t understand.”

Superman stared at him for a long moment. Then, to Batman’s surprise, he nodded.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted.

Batman hadn’t expected agreement, and for some reason, that made him warier.

Superman turned his attention to the unconscious mercenaries. “I’ll take Maroni and his men to the GCPD.” He looked back at Batman. “You sticking around?”

Batman was already retrieving his grapple gun. “I have some leads to run down.”

Superman gave a half-smile. “Of course you do.”

Batman didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he fired the grapple, letting it pull him toward the nearest rooftop.

Superman watched him go, then glanced down at the weapon in his hand.

Whatever this was, it was only the beginning.

And something told him that he and Batman were going to be seeing a lot more of each other.

—-——————

Superman soared through the night sky, the alien weapon gripped tightly in his hand. The cold Gotham rain had long since given way to the frigid winds of the Arctic as he approached the Fortress of Solitude, its crystalline towers gleaming under the moonlight.

As he landed at the entrance, the great doors parted automatically, recognizing him. He stepped inside, the warmth of Kryptonian energy coursing through the air despite the ice that surrounded the structure. The Fortress was silent except for the hum of ancient technology, a monument to a lost world.

He moved toward the central chamber, where the AI construct of his father, Jor-El, awaited. The great crystal pillars flickered to life as Superman placed the alien weapon on the scanning platform. A soft blue glow enveloped the device, lifting it into the air as Kryptonian script scrolled across the holographic displays.

“Analyzing…” Jor-El’s voice echoed through the chamber, steady and methodical. The AI’s likeness appeared in a projected hologram before him, an image of his father preserved in light and data.

Superman folded his arms. “What can you tell me about it?”

Jor-El studied the readings. “This technology is not of Kryptonian origin. However…” His voice took on a measured quality. “It bears traces of design philosophies consistent with multiple alien civilizations—Zeta-Reticulan, Thanagarian, and… something else.”

Superman frowned. “Something else?”

The hologram shifted, and an expanded analysis appeared. “There are residual traces of an unknown energy signature embedded within the circuitry.” Jor-El’s gaze sharpened. “This material, while clearly engineered, was built around something far older. Something not of this galaxy.”

Superman stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You mean it’s ancient?”

Jor-El nodded. “Not only ancient, but repurposed. Whoever manufactured this weapon did not create its core components, they discovered them.”

Superman’s stomach tightened. “So, someone on Earth is using alien technology that’s beyond their understanding.”

“That is correct.”

Superman turned away, running a hand through his hair. That was exactly what Batman had feared. And he was beginning to think, for all his paranoia, the Dark Knight had a point.

He glanced back at the projection. “Any idea who could’ve done this?”

Jor-El’s expression remained unreadable. “No single Earth-based entity possesses the knowledge required to combine these elements alone. However, if there is an organization conducting such experiments, they must have access to interstellar research.”

Superman’s mind immediately ran through the possibilities. Luthor? ARGUS? Some rogue black-market dealer like Mongul?

Jor-El continued. “Kal-El, I must caution you. This energy signature, while faint, resembles traces I have encountered in records of lost civilizations. Civilizations that did not survive their contact with it.”

Superman stiffened. “You think this could be dangerous on a planetary scale?”

“I believe it was dangerous once,” Jor-El corrected. “And if it is resurfacing, it will be again.”

Superman exhaled, his grip tightening. “Then we need to find out who is behind this before it gets worse.”

Jor-El’s gaze remained firm. “Do not undertake this alone, my son. You will need allies.”

Superman sighed. He already knew what Jor-El was implying. And he already knew the answer.

Batman .

The idea grated on him. They had barely worked together, and already they’d butted heads. Batman was brilliant, sure, but he was also stubborn, secretive, and, if Superman was honest, infuriating.

If Earth was sitting on the edge of a disaster, they were going to be in this together. Whether they liked it or not.

—-——————

The rooftop of an abandoned high-rise in Gotham’s Financial District was silent, save for the distant wail of sirens. The city sprawled below, a maze of steel and corruption, bathed in the sickly glow of neon and streetlights.

Batman stood near the edge, his cape shifting slightly in the wind as he waited. He hated waiting.

A gust of air signaled Superman’s arrival before Batman even turned his head. The Kryptonian landed smoothly a few feet away, the alien weapon tucked under one arm.

“You were right,” Superman said without preamble.

Batman turned slightly, just enough to regard him. “Go on.”

Superman held up the weapon. “I had it analyzed at the Fortress, it’s ancient. Whoever made it didn’t create it from scratch. They repurposed something they found.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Found where?”

Superman shook his head. “That’s the problem. We don’t know. But whatever this material was originally used for... It’s powerful. Dangerous.”

Batman folded his arms, absorbing the information. “And now someone’s mass-producing them.”

Superman nodded. “If they have this, then they might have more.”

Batman turned back toward the cityscape. “Which means we need to find out who’s behind it before they use it for something worse.”

Superman stepped closer, his expression serious. “I can track interstellar signals, try to see if any known alien factions have had dealings on Earth. But if this is coming from inside the planet—”

“Then it’s my department,” Batman finished.

Superman hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

A tense silence settled between them. Despite their obvious differences, despite their mutual distrust, they were both circling the same problem.

Batman let out a slow breath. “I have contacts in Gotham’s black market. If something this valuable was being moved, someone knows about it. I’ll start there.”

Superman smirked slightly. “That’s assuming people will talk to you.”

Batman returned a dry look. “They’ll talk.”

Superman shook his head, still amused, but his expression turned thoughtful. “And what about Wayne Enterprises?”

Batman’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp. “What about it?”

“If this is advanced tech, someone in high-level weapons research might have seen traces of it before,” Superman reasoned. “Wayne Enterprises has one of the biggest R&D divisions in the world.”

Batman exhaled slowly. He hated where this was going.

Superman caught the hesitation. “You think it’s possible someone in that company is involved?”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “If they were, I’d already know about it.”

Superman arched an eyebrow. “Would you?”

Batman didn’t answer.

Superman exhaled, rubbing his chin. “Maybe I should—”

“No,” Batman cut him off. “If someone at Wayne Enterprises is involved, I’ll handle it.”

Superman studied him. “Because you don’t want me interfering, or because you don’t want me poking around Bruce Wayne’s business?”

Batman gave him a look. “Both.”

Superman chuckled. “You know, you always talk about Wayne like he’s some kind of idiot.”

Batman smirked slightly. “That is the image he has.”

Superman’s expression softened, just slightly. “I don’t think he’s as shallow as people say.”

Batman’s amusement faded. “You’d be one of the few.”

Superman shrugged. “He funds charities, advocates for reform, and puts more money into Gotham’s infrastructure than any other billionaire in the country. If you ask me, the city would be worse off without him.”

Batman stared at him. The fact that Superman was defending Bruce Wayne—his own alter ego—was almost funny. Almost.

Instead, he said, “You sound like a fan.”

Superman smiled. “I just don’t like seeing people dismiss someone who’s actually trying to help.”

Batman looked away, staring back out over Gotham. The irony of this entire conversation was almost unbearable.

Finally, he said, “Bruce Wayne may not be useless. But he’s not the solution to this.”

Superman nodded. “Then let’s find out who is.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the uneasy truce settling between them.

Then Batman turned. “If I need something, I’ll let you know.”

Superman gave a knowing smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Batman didn’t reply, disappearing into the shadows a moment later.

Superman lingered for a moment, watching the city.

Chapter Text

Clark adjusted his glasses as he stepped into the gleaming lobby of Wayne Enterprises. The building itself was a testament to Gotham’s contrasts, polished steel and glass reflecting a city still struggling to rise from its own darkness.

His cover story was simple: the Daily Planet was running a piece on major corporations taking environmental initiatives, and Wayne Enterprises was one of the leaders in sustainable energy research. It was the perfect excuse to get inside without raising suspicion.

Clark was led through the main atrium by a PR representative, a well-dressed woman with a firm but polite demeanor. “Mr. Kent, we’re very proud of Wayne Enterprises’ latest clean energy initiatives. Mr. Fox has been spearheading the project personally, but I’d be happy to arrange an interview with one of our research leads—”

A voice cut in from behind them.

“No need for that, I’ll take it from here.”

Clark turned just as Bruce Wayne approached, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, his usual effortless charm on full display.

The PR rep stiffened. “Oh, Mr. Wayne, I didn’t realize—”

Bruce smiled easily, waving her off. “It’s fine. Mr. Kent and I are already acquainted.”

Clark returned the smile, though internally, he was recalculating. He hadn’t expected to run into Bruce directly, not yet. Maybe that was a good thing.

Bruce gestured toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you around myself.”

The PR rep looked momentarily startled, but she knew better than to argue with her boss. Clark simply nodded, playing along.

As they walked deeper into the building, Bruce led him toward an elevator. The doors slid shut, leaving them alone as the floor numbers ticked upward.

Clark glanced at him. “Didn’t realize you were so hands-on with environmental efforts.”

Bruce smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I like to keep an eye on what my company’s up to. Especially when reporters start snooping around.”

Clark chuckled. “I prefer the term ‘investigating.’”

Bruce’s smirk didn’t fade. “Of course you do.”

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened into R&D, where various engineers and technicians bustled between high-tech workstations. Expansive glass windows overlooked Gotham, and in the center of the room stood an enormous prototype energy core, humming softly with green-tinted light.

Clark stepped closer, adjusting his glasses as he took in the sight. “Impressive.”

Bruce leaned casually against the railing. “Wayne Enterprises has been developing clean fusion for years. This is the latest version, more stable, more efficient. Assuming no one decides to steal it.”

Clark glanced at him. “That happen often?”

“More than you’d think.”

Clark nodded, shifting the conversation. “What about off-world materials? With so much new tech coming in from extraterrestrial encounters, there’s been a lot of talk about corporations trying to reverse-engineer things beyond our understanding.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but Clark noticed the subtle shift, the slight straightening of his posture, the almost imperceptible flicker of tension in his jaw.

“I tend to stay away from things I don’t understand,” Bruce said smoothly. “That’s how you end up in trouble.”

Clark nodded thoughtfully. “A smart policy.”

“But not why you’re here.”

Clark looked at him, playing innocent. “What do you mean?”

Bruce’s blue eyes locked onto him, unreadable. “You’re not here for an environmental story. That’s just an excuse.”

Clark tilted his head. “You don’t think the Daily Planet is interested in corporate sustainability?”

“I think you’re interested in something else.” Bruce pushed off the railing, stepping closer. “I know a distraction when I see one and I know when someone’s fishing.”

Clark met his gaze, calm but unwavering. “You are an interesting subject, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce chuckled. “And you are a terrible liar, Mr. Kent.”

Clark had to suppress a smile. He wasn’t used to people reading him so well.

Bruce gestured toward the elevator. “Come on. I’ll even throw in a few official quotes so you have something real to print.”

Clark followed, but his mind was already spinning. Bruce Wayne had deflected every question about alien tech effortlessly. Almost too effortlessly.

Which meant one of two things: Either he truly had no connection to the weapons trade…

Or he was already ahead of the game. Either way, Clark intended to find out.

—-——————

Clark Kent sat at his desk in the Daily Planet newsroom, staring at his half-written article and tapping a pen against his chin. His mind wasn’t on corporate sustainability. It was on Bruce Wayne.

Their encounter at Wayne Enterprises had only solidified Clark’s suspicions: Bruce knew more than he was letting on. Whether he was actively involved or simply covering for someone else, he was too good at dodging the right questions.

Clark needed another angle.

“Okay, farm boy, what’s with the brooding?”

Clark blinked and turned to see Lois dropping a stack of papers onto her desk, giving him a look.

“I’m not brooding,” he said.

Lois snorted. “You’re sitting there staring into space like you’re waiting for an existential crisis to hit you in the face.”

Clark sighed and leaned back. “I just… I need Bruce Wayne to talk.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “That billionaire you ran into the other night?”

Clark nodded. “I talked to him again at Wayne Enterprises. He’s way too good at avoiding questions. I know he’s hiding something, but he’s not just going to open up because I ask nicely.”

Lois laughed. “Yeah, most people don’t.”

Clark ran a hand through his hair. “I just need to figure out how to get past the act.”

Lois watched him for a moment, then grinned. “You should woo him.”

Clark blinked. “…What?”

“You heard me,” Lois said, leaning against her desk. “Bruce Wayne loves attention. He’s all about the high-society charm, right? So play into it.” She gestured at him. “You’re a mild-mannered, small-town reporter who just happens to be interested in him.”

Clark gave her a skeptical look. “Lois, I’m not flirting with Bruce Wayne.”

“Why not?” Lois said, grinning. “You’d make a cute couple.”

Clark rubbed his temples. “This is not helpful.”

Lois laughed. “Oh, come on, Clark. I’m just saying, you’re a reporter. If a direct approach doesn’t work, try a different angle. He’s used to people either kissing up to him or writing him off as an idiot. You? You intrigue him. Play into that.”

Clark sighed. “And what? Ask him out to dinner and hope he spills corporate secrets over wine?”

Lois shrugged. “Stranger things have worked.”

Clark shook his head, but the idea stuck with him. Maybe Lois had a point. Bruce was used to journalists being aggressive or dismissive. Maybe if Clark stopped pushing so directly, he’d reveal more without realizing it.

Lois smirked. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking about how ridiculous you are,” Clark muttered.

Lois winked. “Just don’t break his heart, Smallville.”

Clark rolled his eyes, but as he turned back to his computer, a small smile tugged at his lips.

—-——————

The Metropolis skyline gleamed under the midday sun, its steel towers standing in stark contrast to Gotham’s gothic architecture. The city was alive with energy, a sense of movement and ambition in every street.

At the heart of it all, Wayne Enterprises had taken over one of the grand halls of the Metropolis Convention Center for a major press conference. The company was announcing a new partnership with STAR Labs on clean energy initiatives—publicly, anyway.

Privately, Bruce Wayne had his own reasons for being here.

He sat at the head of a long panel table, a charcoal suit draped effortlessly over him, wearing the easy, charming smile he had perfected over years of public appearances. Lucius Fox sat to his left, detailing the specifics of the partnership, while PR officials from both companies fielded the usual softball questions.

Bruce let his mind wander, subtly scanning the room. His real focus wasn’t on energy projects, it was on watching for threats.

Which was why he noticed Clark Kent the moment he entered.

Bruce kept his expression neutral as the reporter wove through the crowd. Kent was dressed in his usual slightly-too-large suit, a notebook in hand, those ever-curious blue eyes scanning the room.

Bruce hadn’t expected to run into him so soon.

“Mr. Wayne,” a reporter called from the front row, snapping Bruce’s attention back. “Some critics say this partnership is just a PR move. How do you respond?”

Bruce gave his signature lopsided grin. “Well, I’d love to say I don’t care what critics think, but then I wouldn’t be very good at my job, would I?” A chuckle from the audience. He leaned forward slightly. “Wayne Enterprises has invested billions into clean energy. This partnership isn’t about headlines, it’s about progress. If people want to doubt that, well…” He shrugged. “They’ll just have to be wrong.”

More chuckles. More cameras flashing.

And then Clark Kent raised his hand. Bruce’s smile didn’t falter, but his mind sharpened.

“Mr. Kent,” he said smoothly. “Nice to see you again.”

Clark smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Likewise, Mr. Wayne.”

Something about his tone made Bruce’s instincts twinge. Clark wasn’t attacking, wasn’t pressing him like other reporters would.

Clark’s voice was easy, almost casual. “Your company has made some impressive advances in clean energy. But given Wayne Enterprises’ history with military contracts in the past, some might wonder, do you have any concerns about your technology being misused?”

Bruce barely paused. Ah. There it is.

Still smiling, he leaned back slightly. “That’s always a concern in any industry, but we have strict oversight in place. And, unlike some companies, we don’t sell our innovations to the highest bidder.”

Clark nodded. “Good to hear. And with so much cutting-edge research under your control, how do you decide what stays private and what gets shared with the public?”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, studying him.

“Well, Mr. Kent,” Bruce said, “it’s all about responsibility. Some technology isn’t ready for public hands. Some things require careful management.”

Clark held his gaze. “And you make that decision yourself?”

Bruce’s smile remained. “My wonderful leadership team does.”

The tension between them was subtle, unnoticed by the rest of the room, but it was there. A quiet battle of words beneath the surface.

Clark nodded, as if satisfied, and jotted something in his notebook. “Appreciate your time, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce’s smile never wavered. “Anytime.”

The press conference continued, but Bruce’s mind stayed on Clark. The reporter was up to something. Bruce had every intention of figuring out what.

—-——————

The press conference had wrapped, and Bruce was already halfway through the lobby of the Metropolis Convention Center, heading toward the private exit. His security detail lingered at a distance, allowing him to maintain his usual carefree, charming billionaire persona.

He had given his quotes, played his part, and kept his real thoughts to himself. But there was still one loose end.

“Mr. Wayne!”

Bruce smirked before he even turned around. Of course.

Clark wove through the departing reporters, his notebook tucked under one arm. His tie was slightly askew, his glasses catching the overhead lights just enough to hide the intensity of his gaze.

Bruce adjusted his cufflinks lazily as Clark approached. “Mr. Kent. Couldn’t get enough of my dazzling insights?”

Clark smiled. “Something like that.”

Bruce gave a mock sigh. “You know, if you keep popping up at my events, people might start to think you have an interest in me.”

Clark chuckled. “Well, actually…” He paused for a beat, then shrugged. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner.”

Bruce blinked. For the first time in a while, he was caught off guard.

Clark—mild-mannered, straight-laced Clark—was standing in front of him, looking relaxed, friendly, and maybe even a little amused.

Bruce recovered quickly, slipping into his usual easy confidence. “Dinner? I don’t usually do interviews over meals, Kent.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about an interview?”

Bruce tilted his head, watching him carefully. Clark didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. If anything, he looked entertained.

Bruce’s lips curled into a smirk. “So, what, this is personal?”

Clark gave a small, good-natured shrug. “Maybe I just want to get to know the real Bruce Wayne. The one who isn’t behind a podium.”

Bruce chuckled. Bold.

He could already feel himself wanting to pick apart Clark’s angle. Was this just another tactic? Another attempt to prod for answers?

Or was it something else?

He exhaled through his nose, his smirk never fading. “Alright, Kent. I’ll bite.”

Clark smiled. “Great. There’s a place a few blocks from here, nothing fancy, just good food. Unless you prefer something more extravagant?”

Bruce grinned. “Are you saying you’re taking me somewhere casual? Do you know how rare that is for me?”

Clark chuckled. “I figured you could use a break from five-star dining.”

Bruce pretended to consider it, then nodded. “Alright. Let’s see if you can impress me.”

Clark turned toward the exit, glancing back with an easy smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Bruce followed, his mind already spinning. What are you up to, Kent?

—-——————

The restaurant was a cozy, low-lit bistro tucked away from the usual Metropolis high-society haunts. It was the kind of place Bruce rarely found himself, no velvet ropes, no over-the-top chandeliers, no waitlist requiring a month’s notice. Just good food, quiet conversation, and the faint hum of jazz playing from an old speaker in the corner.

Bruce twirled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers, watching Clark Kent with amused curiosity from across the small wooden table.

Clark had led him inside like this was a normal, everyday thing, as if he wasn’t sitting across from a billionaire who had half of Gotham convinced he barely knew how to tie his own shoes.

And now Clark was watching him.

Bruce wasn’t used to that. People either idolized him, dismissed him, or wanted something from him. Clark, on the other hand, looked at him like he was trying to figure him out.

Bruce took a slow sip of his wine before finally breaking the silence. “So, Kent,” he said, voice easy and teasing, “I’m still waiting for the part where you reveal this was all an elaborate excuse to ask more questions about Wayne Enterprises.”

Clark set his own glass down. “You think I need an excuse?”

Bruce huffed a small laugh. “I think you’re an investigative journalist who doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

Clark leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “And what about you?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Clark tilted his head. “You play the part of the airhead so well. But I don’t think that’s who you actually are.”

Bruce’s smirk didn’t waver, but his mind was racing. “Let me guess. You think I’m a secret genius hiding behind a charming smile?”

Clark chuckled. “I think you’re smarter than people give you credit for. And I think you like letting them underestimate you.”

Bruce pretended to consider that. “Well, it does make life easier.”

Clark hummed. “And yet, you still agreed to dinner with a reporter who’s clearly not buying the act.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, watching Clark with quiet amusement. “Maybe I was curious.”

Clark smiled, slow and warm. “About what?”

Bruce tilted his head. “About why a Metropolis reporter is so interested in me. I’m flattered, really.”

“Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

Bruce smirked. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Clark’s smile widened. “I might be the first who actually wants to get to know you.”

Bruce’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. Just a second.

Then he recovered, taking another sip of wine. “You’re good, Kent.”

Clark shrugged. “I try.”

Bruce set his glass down and leaned forward slightly, mirroring Clark’s posture. “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly is your angle? Because if this is just some elaborate way of catching me off guard, I have to say, I admire the effort.”

Clark met his gaze, unwavering. “I meant what I said. I want to know the real you.”

Bruce chuckled. “And you think a dinner date is going to reveal my deepest secrets?”

Clark arched an eyebrow. “So it is a date?”

Bruce blinked.

Clark smirked, and Bruce let out a quiet laugh. “You’re bolder than you look.”

“And you’re more guarded than you pretend to be.”

Bruce studied him. For all his usual charm, for all his ability to manipulate a conversation, Clark was actually making him think.

It was rare. It was annoying. It was also interesting.

Bruce sat back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. “You’re something else.”

Clark smiled, raising his glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Bruce clinked his glass against Clark’s, watching him with quiet intrigue.

—-——————

The night air was cool as they stepped out onto the quiet Metropolis street. The restaurant’s warm glow faded behind them, leaving only the distant hum of the city as their backdrop. Bruce walked with his usual effortless confidence, hands in his pockets, while Clark kept his pace steady beside him, his presence calm and unshaken.

Bruce’s sleek black car was parked at the curb, waiting like a silent guardian beneath the streetlights.

Clark slowed his steps as they reached it, turning to face Bruce fully. “Well,” he said with an easy smile, “this was nice.”

Bruce nodded. “It was.” He paused, studying Clark. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect from this little… experiment of yours.”

Clark chuckled. “And?”

Bruce held his gaze. “You’re surprising.”

Clark grinned. “Thanks.”

Bruce gave a slow nod, still watching him carefully, like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had just become more complicated.

Clark stepped a little closer, closing the small space between them. He reached out, and before Bruce could react, he gently took his hand.

Bruce arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t pull away.

Clark lifted Bruce’s hand slightly and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his knuckles.

Bruce blinked. Once. Twice.

Clark smirked as he let go, slipping a small folded card into Bruce’s palm. “My number,” he murmured. “In case you ever get curious again.”

Bruce stared at him, and for once in his life, he was genuinely at a loss for words.

Clark took a step back, his smile teasing but warm. “Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

Then, with a small nod, he turned and walked off into the Metropolis night, disappearing into the crowd like he had never been there at all.

Bruce glanced down at the number in his hand, then let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable.”

He tucked the card into his pocket, smirking to himself as he got into his car. Maybe he’d call.

Chapter Text

The Justice League convened in the main briefing chamber, a sleek, high-tech room designed for moments exactly like this.

At the head of the table, Wonder Woman stood with arms crossed, her expression firm. “We know the weapons are alien. We know they’re being modified for human use. The question is: who is supplying them, and to what end?”

Batman leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “We need to assume this isn’t a one-off operation.”

Green Lantern exhaled, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “If this is off-world, the Corps should’ve caught wind of it by now.” His ring glowed as he pulled up an interstellar holographic display. “I’ll check in with Oa and see if any known smugglers have made moves in this sector.”

The Flash tapped his fingers rapidly against the table. “Okay, but even if it came from space, someone down here is running the operation. Smugglers don’t exactly set up arms deals without a contact on the ground.” He looked at Cyborg. “Can you track transactions? Shipments?”

Cyborg’s cybernetic eye glowed as data scrolled across his internal HUD. “Already working on it. Gotham’s black market is tight, but there’s gotta be a digital footprint somewhere. If I can cross-reference sales records with known tech brokers, we might get a lead.”

Superman, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “The energy signature in the weapon I recovered, it’s old. And powerful. My analysis showed traces of Thanagarian design, but it’s been modified by something even older. I need to go back to the Fortress and run deeper scans.”

Batman nodded. “Do it. If we’re dealing with something beyond human comprehension, we need to know what it is before someone uses it in a way we can’t stop.”

Wonder Woman turned to Aquaman, who had been listening quietly. “Anything on your end?”

Aquaman leaned back, arms folded. “If any of this tech moved through the ocean, I’ll know. I’ll send my people to investigate undersea trade routes.” His expression hardened. “If someone is stockpiling weapons, they might be hiding them somewhere no one’s looking.”

Wonder Woman nodded, then turned back to the table. “Alright. Here’s the plan.”

She looked at Batman. “You and Cyborg follow the money. Find out who’s funding this.”

Then to Superman. “Get back to the Fortress and analyze the weapon further. If it has a history, we need to know it.”

To Green Lantern. “Check in with the Corps. If this is part of a larger intergalactic smuggling ring, we can’t ignore it.”

To Flash. “You’re on intel gathering. Find out if any of Gotham’s usual players have heard whispers about this.”

Finally, she looked at Aquaman. “And if any of these weapons have been stashed in international waters, I want to know yesterday.”

The League members exchanged glances, nodding in agreement.

With that, the Justice League dispersed, each heading off to their assigned task.

—-——————

Gotham City

Batman crouched on the rooftop across from Falcone Imports, one of Gotham’s most notorious front companies for smuggling. He tapped a control on his gauntlet, his cowl’s lenses adjusting to infrared as he surveyed the warehouse below.

Cyborg’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “I’m in their financials. No direct payments for alien weapons, but there’s a shell company routing large sums to a private airstrip just outside of Metropolis. The shipments are marked as ‘classified materials.’”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Metropolis. Of course.”

Cyborg’s chuckle came through the line. “Want me to trace the airstrip’s owner?”

“Already on it.” Batman’s fingers moved over his gauntlet, pulling up satellite feeds. The airstrip belonged to LexCorp Subsidiary Holdings.

Batman’s jaw tightened. If Luthor was involved, things were about to get even more complicated.

“Send the data to the League,” Batman ordered. “I’ll pay Luthor a visit.”

—-——————

The Fortress of Solitude

Superman stood before the glowing crystalline console as Jor-El’s hologram analyzed the weapon once more.

“This alloy,” Jor-El’s voice echoed through the chamber, “originates from a civilization that predates Kryptonian records. The core energy signature…” His expression darkened. “It matches the remnants of a species that was eradicated eons ago.”

Superman frowned. “Eradicated by who?”

Jor-El’s form flickered. “By their own creations.”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying these weapons wiped out an entire species?”

Jor-El nodded solemnly. “And if they have resurfaced, it means someone has found their remains and is repurposing them.”

Superman clenched his jaw. If someone was weaponizing technology that had once destroyed an entire civilization, then Earth was in far greater danger than they realized.

He turned away from the console. “I need to warn the others.”

—-——————

Sector 2814, Oa

Green Lantern stood before the massive Central Power Battery, his ring interfacing directly with the Guardians’ archives.

The data streamed before him in glowing emerald projections. “Show me all recorded instances of ancient energy-based weaponry.”

The system flickered—then, to John’s surprise, a restricted file appeared.

He frowned. “What the hell?”

A voice interrupted him, Kilowog, his longtime comrade. “Hey, Stewart. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

John pointed at the file. “This symbol.” He gestured at the marking on the weapons Batman had recovered. “The Corps has a record of it, but it’s classified.”

Kilowog’s expression darkened. “That ain’t good.”

John clenched his fist, feeling the ring hum in response. “No, it’s not. And I’m gonna find out why.”

—-——————

Gotham City, The Iceberg Lounge

Flash moved through the crowd in disguise, civilians saw nothing more than a blur, the faintest displacement of air as he lifted a few key documents from the office of Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin.

A moment later, he was back in an alley, flipping through the stolen files at super-speed.

One name popped up multiple times: Veridus Industries.

Barry frowned. “Never heard of them.”

He tapped his League communicator. “Batman, got something for you. Veridus Industries is tied to the smuggling rings moving this alien tech. Ring a bell?”

Batman’s voice came through. “No. But it will soon.”

—-——————

North Atlantic Ocean

Aquaman dove into the freezing depths, his golden trident glowing faintly in the darkness. Below, nestled between jagged underwater cliffs, he saw it—a sunken freighter, its hull breached, cargo containers split open.

Inside? More of the alien weapons.

Arthur swam closer, running his fingers along the strange metal. His gut twisted. These weapons were not meant to be underwater. That meant someone had tried to hide them, or transport them somewhere secret.

Then, he sensed movement.

Arthur spun just in time to see black-clad figures emerging from the wreckage, mercenaries with rebreathers, armed with advanced tech.

Arthur grinned. “So that’s how we’re doing this.”

With one mighty stroke, he surged forward, trident raised.

The fight was on.

—-——————

The team had gathered once again, each hero standing or sitting around the central holographic display as they shared their findings. The air was heavy with tension.

Wonder Woman stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed. “Let’s start from the beginning. What do we know?”

Batman tapped a command into the table’s interface, pulling up several data streams. “Cyborg and I traced the financial transactions. The smuggling operation is being funneled through Veridus Industries, a company with no public profile, but significant hidden assets. A shipment was routed through a private airstrip owned by LexCorp.”

Superman’s expression darkened. “So Luthor is involved.”

Batman met his gaze. “We don’t know that yet. His name isn’t on any of the direct transactions, but the fact that one of his subsidiaries is moving alien weapons? Suspicious.”

Green Lantern crossed his arms. “I checked in with the Corps. There’s a restricted file tied to the energy readings in those weapons. I haven’t cracked it yet, but if the Guardians are keeping it locked up, that means it’s bad news.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “We need that file unlocked.”

John nodded. “Already working on it.”

The Flash, sitting with his feet kicked up on the table, flipped through his stolen files. “So, Veridus Industries is handling money, Luthor’s airstrip is moving shipments, but who’s actually buying this stuff?”

Aquaman stepped forward, his trident resting against his shoulder. “The Atlantic wreckage had dozens of these weapons in transit, guarded by trained mercenaries with off-world tech. Someone tried to hide them in the ocean before I found them.”

Cyborg projected an overlay of known black-market arms dealers. “This isn’t just supply for Earth-based crime syndicates. This is interstellar trade. Someone is selling these weapons beyond our planet.”

Wonder Woman’s brow furrowed. “We’re not just dealing with an Earth-based conspiracy. We could be looking at a wider intergalactic operation.”

Superman clenched his fists. “If someone is using Earth as a base for interstellar arms dealing, it means they’re not afraid of drawing attention. Which means they have powerful protection.”

Batman’s voice was low. “And we need to know who’s protecting them.”

Wonder Woman turned to Green Lantern. “Your restricted file—how soon can you access it?”

John exhaled. “If I push it? A few hours. Maybe less.”

“Do it.”

She turned to Batman. “Luthor.”

Batman nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

Flash grinned. “Oh, this I gotta see.”

Batman shot him a look. “Not like that. We don’t need to tip him off yet. If Luthor’s involved, I need to know exactly how before we act.”

Superman crossed his arms. “And if he is the one pulling the strings?”

“Then we take him down.”

Superman didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t argue.

Wonder Woman turned to Aquaman. “Can your people track more of these shipments?”

Arthur nodded. “Already put my scouts on it. If anything else is hidden beneath the waves, I’ll know.”

Cyborg tapped into the hologram. “I’ll run deeper scans on Veridus Industries. If they’re real, they have a base of operations somewhere. I’ll find it.”

Batman turned to the team. “Let’s move.”

—-——————

The LexCorp Gala was exactly the kind of spectacle Bruce Wayne had spent years perfecting his act for—glittering excess, whispered deals disguised as charity, and powerful men playing at philanthropy while plotting something far worse.

Bruce navigated the ballroom with his usual effortless charm, shaking hands, flashing his signature smirk, and making sure anyone watching saw nothing but a carefree billionaire indulging in another night of luxury.

In reality, his focus was elsewhere.

Somewhere in this building, Lex Luthor was hiding something.

Batman had followed the money trail, secret transactions, hidden research divisions, shipments routed through LexCorp subsidiaries. It all pointed to Luthor having a direct connection to the alien weapons trade.

Bruce intended to find out exactly what that connection was.

So, between the fake laughter and feigned drunkenness, he slipped away.

LexCorp Tower was vast, but Bruce had studied the schematics long before arriving. He moved through a side corridor, past the security-guarded VIP areas, until he reached a restricted access door.

A few keystrokes on his concealed WayneTech decryptor, and the lock clicked open. He stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, filled with holographic displays projecting schematics of the alien weaponry Batman had recovered in Gotham. Energy signatures glowed in shifting blueprints, showing modifications, enhancements, human and alien technology fused together.

Bruce’s jaw tightened. He pulled out a small device and began scanning the data for later extraction—

Then, the air shifted. A faint whoosh, a barely perceptible movement behind him. Bruce didn’t turn immediately.

Instead, he spoke calmly. “You’re quiet for someone who usually makes a dramatic entrance.”

A deep voice answered from the shadows. “I could say the same about you.”

Bruce finally turned. Superman stood near the doorway, cape barely moving, his eyes glowing faintly in the low light. For a moment, neither spoke.

Then, Superman took a step forward, his gaze flicking to the holographic projections. “You’re in a restricted area.”

Bruce smirked. “So are you.”

Superman didn’t react to the quip. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you doing here, Wayne?”

Bruce gave an easy shrug. “What does it look like? Corporate espionage. Very improper of me.”

Superman didn’t buy it. Bruce could tell.

“You knew this was here,” Superman said slowly. “You knew what Luthor was working on.”

Bruce slipped his hands into his pockets, keeping his posture relaxed. “Let’s just say I had a strong hunch.”

Superman took another step closer, his height and presence filling the space. “How? No one else even knew these weapons existed.”

Bruce tilted his head. “You did.”

That made Superman pause. For the first time, Bruce saw something flicker across his face—realization. They were both here for the same reason.

Superman exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable. “So. What exactly is Bruce Wayne planning to do with this information?”

Bruce winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Superman studied him. For all his years of reading people, for all his superhuman perception, there was something about Bruce Wayne that didn’t add up.

He was too comfortable in this situation. Too calm. Superman wasn’t sure what to make of him.

Bruce watched Superman watching him. Good. Let him wonder. Let him think he had the upper hand. Bruce already had what he came for.

Superman stood beside Bruce, arms crossed, as they both stared at the glowing holographic projections of the alien weapon schematics.

The room was dim, the flickering blue light of the data display casting sharp shadows across Bruce’s face. He scrolled through the interface with one hand, the other still casually tucked into his pocket, his expression focused, but not so focused that he didn’t notice how very close Superman was standing.

Superman’s eyes scanned the schematics, his jaw tight. “This is worse than I thought.”

Bruce tilted his head, pretending to be impressed. “You know your tech.”

Superman didn’t react to the compliment. “These modifications… he’s improving them.”

Bruce hummed. “That’s a word for it.”

Superman shot him a sharp look. “You’re taking this awfully lightly, considering your company has one of the largest R&D divisions in the world.”

Bruce smirked. “You say that like I’d be offended to learn Luthor’s playing with dangerous toys.” He gestured to the floating schematics. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t concerned.”

Superman exhaled slowly, gaze flicking back to the data. His brow furrowed. “These energy signatures… I’ve seen them before.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Superman hesitated.

Bruce’s smirk widened slightly. “Oh, you have secrets. That’s refreshing.”

Superman ignored the jab, focusing on the display. “These weapons weren’t just meant for war. Their energy signature is old, older than anything I’ve encountered before. If Luthor understands even a fraction of what he’s dealing with…”

Bruce leaned in slightly, voice low. “Then we have a much bigger problem than black-market sales.”

Superman nodded, but then he turned his head slightly, looking at Bruce directly. “And yet, you don’t seem afraid of Luthor. Or his weapons.”

Bruce smirked. “Should I be?”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “Most people would be.”

Bruce took a deliberate step closer. “Well, I like to think I’m not most people.”

Superman held his ground, his expression unreadable, but Bruce could see the flicker of something in his eyes. Curiosity. Frustration. Annoyance?

Bruce tilted his head. “What about you?”

Superman blinked. “What?”

Bruce’s gaze flicked over him in an exaggerated once-over, before locking back onto his face. “You show up at a high-profile gala, break into a secured LexCorp server room, and somehow expect me to believe you’re just some concerned hero?”

Superman frowned slightly. “I am concerned.”

Bruce chuckled. “Mmm. And yet, here you are, standing in the dark with a billionaire who definitely shouldn’t be here either.”

Superman exhaled, clearly unamused. “Are you flirting with me?”

Bruce’s smirk turned into a full grin. “Depends. Is it working?”

Superman gave him a deadpan look. “No.”

Bruce sighed dramatically. “What a shame.”

Superman shook his head, but there was the faintest ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Are you always this insufferable?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Superman chuckled softly, just once, before straightening again. “We should focus.”

Bruce took a step back, nodding toward the schematics. “By all means, lead the way, Boy Scout.”

Superman’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “You don’t know me.”

Bruce smiled. “Not yet.”

Superman exhaled through his nose, clearly deciding not to take the bait. Instead, he turned back to the data, muttering, “This is going to be a long night.”

Bruce smirked to himself.

Oh, he was definitely going to enjoy this.

—-——————

Wayne Manor was as grand and imposing as its reputation suggested, an old-world estate looming atop the cliffs outside Gotham, its Gothic architecture standing in stark contrast to the sleek, modern metropolis below.

Superman had expected the grandeur. He hadn’t expected this.

Instead of some underground secret lair or a high-tech bunker, Bruce Wayne had led him to a laboratory hidden within one of the Manor’s wings. It was state-of-the-art but not suspiciously so, just enough for a man of Wayne’s resources to justify having on hand.

The room itself was minimalist with stainless steel counters, a holographic display, and a scanning table where the data drive they had stolen from LexCorp was currently being analyzed. Next to it, the fragments of alien material Bruce had discreetly pocketed at the gala sat under an observation lens, the strange metal gleaming faintly under artificial light.

Bruce stood at the terminal, sleeves rolled up, fingers gliding over the interface as he decrypted the files. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something closer to intense focus.

Superman leaned against the far counter, arms crossed, watching him.

“You have all this tech,” Superman mused. “Yet you don’t seem like the scientist type.”

Bruce didn’t look up. “You’d be surprised.”

Superman glanced at the scans. “And yet, none of this is part of Wayne Enterprises’ official research labs.”

Bruce smirked slightly at that. “Curious, are we?”

Superman gave him a pointed look. “A billionaire with a secret, unregistered research facility in his own home? Yeah, I’m a little curious.”

Bruce exhaled a quiet chuckle. “Let’s just say I prefer my private projects to remain private.”

Superman frowned slightly. “You don’t trust your own company?”

Bruce’s fingers didn’t pause over the holographic keyboard. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Superman sighed, stepping closer to the scanning table. “And yet you trust me enough to bring me here?”

Bruce finally looked up, blue eyes sharp. “I trust that you won’t break through the walls and set off every alarm in Gotham.”

Superman smirked. “That’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

Bruce turned back to the interface, continuing his work. “It’s better than most people get.”

Superman studied him for a moment. Bruce Wayne was an enigma. Everything about him was carefully calculated, controlled. 

There was genuine brilliance behind those eyes. Not just the kind of brilliance that came from wealth or business acumen.

The kind that came from experience. From obsession .

The scan beeped, and Bruce muttered, “Finally.”

Superman straightened as the LexCorp data drive decrypted, displaying its stolen files across the room’s holographic display. Weapon schematics. Transaction records. Research notes.

Superman’s expression darkened. “That’s a shipment schedule.”

Bruce nodded. “Looks like a major transport of modified weapons, but it’s not staying in Metropolis. It’s moving through Gotham.”

Superman’s jaw tightened. “Who’s receiving it?”

Bruce’s lips pressed together. He clicked through the files until the recipient’s name appeared.

Veridus Industries.

Superman exhaled sharply. “That name again.”

Bruce nodded. “This shipment isn’t just weapons for sale. It’s resources for something bigger.” He turned toward the fragment of alien metal under the scanner. “And I think I know why.”

Superman stepped closer. “What do you mean?”

Bruce tapped the screen, zooming in on the elemental structure of the fragment. “Someone’s combining multiple off-world technologies into a single structure.” He glanced at Superman. “They’re building something.”

Superman frowned. “Building what?”

Bruce exhaled. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Superman nodded, his expression serious.

Then, after a beat, he teased Bruce. “And here I thought you were just some billionaire who liked expensive toys.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Careful, Superman. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Superman chuckled. “Almost.”

Bruce turned back to the interface. “We need to track that shipment before it disappears. Take this back to your superhero friends.”

Superman nodded. “Got it.” Superman was gone in an instant.

Chapter Text

Bruce was used to unexpected visitors. CEOs, investors, politicians, people who wanted his money, his influence, his attention. They all showed up at his office eventually, pretending their presence was casual while angling for something deeper.

But Clark Kent showing up at Wayne Enterprises in the middle of the afternoon with a bouquet of flowers?

That was a new one.

Bruce leaned back in his leather chair, eyebrows raised as he watched the reporter step into his office. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Clark smiled as he walked forward, setting the bouquet onto Bruce’s desk. “Thought I’d bring a gift.”

Bruce smirked, tilting his head. “Flowers? Kent, if you wanted to woo me, you could’ve just asked me to dinner again.”

Clark chuckled, settling into the chair across from Bruce’s desk. “Can’t a guy bring a friend flowers?”

Bruce’s gaze flickered between Clark and the bouquet before resting on him fully. “Sure, but usually, there’s an occasion.”

Clark shrugged. “I figured you could use a little color in your life. Gotham’s kind of… dark.”

Bruce exhaled a quiet laugh. “Touché.”

Something was off. Clark was playing casual, but Bruce could tell this wasn’t just a friendly visit. Clark wanted something.

Bruce leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “So, Kent. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

Clark met his gaze, all polite innocence. “Can’t I just visit an old friend?”

Bruce smirked. “We’re not old friends.”

Clark smiled. “Not yet.”

Bruce sighed, tapping his fingers against the desk. “I admire the effort, really. But you didn’t come all the way from Metropolis just to bring me flowers.”

Clark’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened slightly, so subtle most people wouldn’t notice. But Bruce wasn’t most people.

Clark sat back, as if relenting. “Alright, you caught me.”

Bruce smirked. “Obviously.”

Clark adjusted his glasses. “I was in town following up on a story and I figured I’d stop by.”

Bruce tilted his head. “What story?”

Clark smiled slightly. “Alien technology making its way into Gotham’s black market.”

Bruce kept his expression unreadable. “Sounds dangerous.”

Clark nodded. “It is. Word is, someone very resourceful is tracking those weapons. Someone with connections—money, influence, and a talent for getting into places he shouldn’t be.”

Bruce chuckled. “Sounds like an interesting guy.”

Clark held his gaze. “Very.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce could feel it, Clark was testing him. Poking at the edges. Looking for cracks in the mask.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, offering a slow smile. “You think I know something?”

Clark tilted his head. “You are Gotham’s most well-connected man.”

Bruce smirked. “Flattery won’t get you answers, Kent.”

Clark grinned. “Worth a shot.”

Bruce’s fingers tapped against the desk. “If I did know something, hypothetically speaking, why would I tell you?”

Clark exhaled, adjusting his glasses. “Because you don’t seem like the type to sit back while something dangerous threatens your city.”

Bruce chuckled. “You really have been paying attention.”

“I tend to do that.”

Bruce studied him, the gears turning in his mind. Clark Kent was too observant. He was onto something.

Instead of being irritated, Bruce found himself intrigued.

Slowly, he picked up the bouquet, inspecting it. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever brought me flowers before.”

Clark smirked. “First time for everything.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered back to him, amused. “Careful, Kent. I might start thinking you have ulterior motives.”

Clark chuckled. “Oh, I definitely do.”

Bruce’s smirk widened. “Good to know.”

The tension between them lingered, a silent battle of wits neither was willing to lose.

Then Bruce set the flowers down, leaning forward with an easy grin. “Tell you what—I’ll make you a deal.”

Clark arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Bruce folded his hands. “You stop digging where you shouldn’t and maybe I’ll owe you a favor.”

Clark chuckled. “You really think that’s going to work?”

Bruce smirked. “No. But it was worth a shot.”

Clark shook his head, standing. “You’re something else, Bruce.”

Bruce grinned. “You have no idea.”

Clark stepped toward the door, pausing before looking back. “Enjoy the flowers.”

Bruce picked up the bouquet, spinning it lightly in his hand. “I just might.”

Clark gave him one last knowing smile before walking out. Bruce watched him go, amusement flickering in his gaze.

Clark Kent was suspicious. And now? Bruce was just as curious about him.

—-——————

Bruce Wayne rarely used his penthouses for anything other than convenience. They were perfect for maintaining appearances: luxurious, extravagant, and just isolated enough to be interesting to certain guests.

Tonight, however, the penthouse served a different purpose. Clark had taken the bait.

Bruce smirked as he poured two glasses of whiskey from the crystal decanter, setting them on the sleek, black marble table between them. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Gotham skyline, the city glowing beneath them. The space was warm, modern, and intimate, exactly the kind of setting Bruce needed.

Clark took in the view with an impressed nod. “I have to admit, Bruce, I wasn’t expecting an invitation.”

Bruce smirked. “I figured after the flowers, it was only polite.”

Clark chuckled, picking up his drink. “A gentleman. Who would’ve guessed?”

Bruce leaned back on the leather couch, watching him. “I do have some charm, Clark.”

Clark took a sip, letting the warmth of the whiskey settle before glancing at Bruce. “So, what’s the real reason you invited me here?”

Bruce tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Can’t a billionaire invite a journalist over for a drink without an ulterior motive?”

Clark smirked. “Not this billionaire.”

Bruce chuckled. “Fair.” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “Alright. I’ll admit it. You’ve been asking some… interesting questions lately.”

Clark met his gaze evenly. “And that makes you nervous?”

Bruce smirked. “Not nervous. Just curious.”

Clark exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who doesn’t like being the subject of curiosity.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. “You are something else.”

Bruce leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to shift the atmosphere. “And what exactly am I?”

Clark studied him for a moment. The playful banter was a game, but the tension beneath it? Something else entirely.

“Still trying to figure that out,” Clark admitted, his voice steady but quiet.

Bruce smirked. “Well, I’d hate to be too predictable.”

Clark leaned back, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Oh, I don’t think anyone’s ever accused you of being predictable.”

Bruce chuckled, then decided to push the game a little further. He reached forward, plucking the glass from Clark’s hand, and took a slow sip from the same spot Clark’s lips had touched.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Bruce smirked. “Would you prefer something less subtle?”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Bruce shrugged. “A little.”

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I should probably be asking you more about the alien tech situation.”

Bruce grinned. “But you won’t, will you?”

Clark gave him a look. “You want me to ask.”

Bruce met his gaze, eyes dark with amusement. “Oh, I love a good interrogation.”

Clark shook his head, setting his glass down. “Alright, Bruce. You win this round.”

Bruce smirked. “Does that mean there’ll be another?”

Clark sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile as he grabbed his coat. But before he could step away, Bruce reached for the whiskey decanter again, refilling his glass with a slow, deliberate motion.

“You sure you don’t want another?” Bruce asked.

Clark hesitated. He knew what Bruce was doing, keeping him here, prolonging the night, the conversation. And, honestly? He didn’t mind.

Clark sighed and sat back down. “Fine. But only one more.”

Bruce looked proud, pouring Clark another glass before taking a slow sip of his own.

Clark leaned against the back of the couch, watching Bruce as the billionaire swirled the whiskey in his glass, his usual sharpness softened slightly by the alcohol.

“How often do you actually drink?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce chuckled. “Less than people think.”

Clark nodded. “Figured.”

Bruce leaned forward slightly. “And what about you? I can’t imagine Clark Kent has a long history of wild nights and reckless drinking.”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not really. I grew up in a small town. Wild nights usually involved sneaking out to watch the stars or borrowing my dad’s truck to go to the next town over.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Small-town boy with big-city ambitions?”

Clark exhaled, looking down at his glass. “Something like that.”

Bruce studied him for a moment, then asked, “What was it like?”

Clark looked up, surprised. “What?”

Bruce shrugged. “Growing up in the middle of nowhere. I imagine it’s a little different from Gotham.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” He took a sip of whiskey, thinking. “It was quiet. Safe. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone. We had one movie theater, one main street, a couple of diners that all served the same thing.” He chuckled. “I spent a lot of time on my family’s farm, helping with chores, fixing things.”

Bruce’s expression shifted slightly. “Sounds… nice.”

Clark studied him. “And Gotham?”

Bruce’s smirk twitched, but it wasn’t as sharp as usual. “Gotham isn’t exactly the place for childhood nostalgia.”

Clark leaned forward slightly. “Try me.”

Bruce exhaled, rolling the glass between his fingers. “It was different. My parents tried to make it feel normal, but Gotham isn’t a place for normal childhoods. The city has teeth.”

Clark watched as Bruce’s usual walls flickered for just a second.

Then, Bruce shook his head. “Not exactly small-town charm.”

Clark’s voice softened. “But it’s home.”

“Yeah. It is.” He exhaled.

Clark nodded, letting the moment settle.

Then Bruce suddenly lifted his glass in a mock toast. “To childhoods. However they turned out.”

Clark chuckled, clinking his glass against Bruce’s. “To childhoods.”

Bruce took a bigger sip this time, and Clark could already tell the whiskey was hitting harder than he expected. His usual precision was slipping, not completely, but enough for Clark to notice.

Clark smirked. “You’re drunk.”

Bruce scoffed. “I don’t get drunk.”

Clark arched an eyebrow. “Really? How many glasses have you had?”

Bruce waved a hand. “Irrelevant.”

Clark shook his head, amused. “Mmhmm.”

Bruce leaned in slightly, his gaze slow and deliberate. “You know, Kent…”

Clark sighed. “Oh boy.”

Bruce smirked. “You keep showing up in my life. At my office, my penthouse, my press conferences…” He tilted his head. “Starting to think you might actually like me.”

Clark huffed a laugh. “Bruce, I’m a journalist. I like answers.”

Bruce grinned. “And yet, here you are. I never give a straight answer.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Here I am.”

Bruce took another sip, then set his glass down. “You’re annoyingly charming, you know that?”

Clark chuckled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Bruce’s smirk lingered, but there was something different in his gaze now, something unfocused, something unguarded.

And then, before Clark could react—

Bruce leaned in.

Clark barely had time to register the movement before Bruce’s lips were suddenly very close to his.

It wasn’t aggressive. Just a little reckless, a little unbalanced, like Bruce had acted on impulse before he could talk himself out of it.

Clark instinctively reached up, steadying Bruce by the shoulder, preventing him from closing the distance completely. “Bruce.”

Bruce blinked, lips still frustratingly close. “What?”

Clark sighed. “You’re drunk.”

Bruce smirked, but it was lazy, unfocused. “So?”

Clark huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered over Clark’s face before he finally leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, well… so are you.”

Clark sighed, still holding onto Bruce’s shoulder for a moment longer before finally letting go.

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, chuckling. “Okay. Maybe I am a little drunk.”

Clark hid a smile. “A little?”

Bruce shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Clark grinned. “Not a chance.”

Bruce sighed, then glanced at him sideways. “You still owe me another round, you know.”

Clark chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you some water first.”

Bruce exhaled. “Fine.”

As Clark stood to grab a bottle of water from the bar, Bruce slumped back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. The alcohol was hitting him harder than he expected—not enough to lose control, but enough to loosen the edges, make his usual calculations less precise.

He watched as Clark moved across the room, effortlessly at ease in a space he had no business being in.

He’s too comfortable here , Bruce thought vaguely. Too familiar.

Clark turned, tossing the bottle of water toward him. Bruce caught it, twisting off the cap but making no move to drink yet. Instead, he tilted his head, watching Clark carefully.

“You know,” Bruce murmured, “you didn’t have to stop me.”

Clark sighed, walking back toward him. “Bruce—”

“No, really,” Bruce continued, voice lazy but amused. “Would’ve been interesting. Might’ve even gotten you the answers you want.”

Clark huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s how investigative journalism works.”

Bruce smirked. “Well, something’s working. You keep showing up.”

Clark sat back down, crossing his arms. “And you keep inviting me.”

Bruce took a slow sip of water, letting that settle between them.

The air between them still hummed with something unspoken, something reckless that Bruce, in his current state, was dangerously close to indulging in again.

Clark studied him, his expression softer now. “Why do you do that?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Act like none of this is serious.” Clark gestured vaguely. “Like it’s all a game.”

Bruce’s smirk faltered for just a second.

Then he chuckled, leaning forward. “You think I’m not serious?”

Clark held his gaze, quiet but firm. “I think you want me to think that.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose. Smart. Too smart.

He tapped his fingers against the water bottle. “Maybe I just like keeping you guessing.”

Clark smirked. “Trust me, I already figured that part out.”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, Kent. You win this round.”

Clark smiled. “That’s two rounds, actually.”

Bruce sighed dramatically. “I’m losing my touch.”

Clark laughed, then stood. “You should get some rest. You’re not exactly at your sharpest right now.”

Bruce smirked, leaning back into the couch. “I don’t need to be sharp to know you’re still trying to figure me out.”

Clark picked up his coat. “And you’re still trying to distract me.”

Bruce gave him a lazy grin. “Is it working?”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Bruce.”

Bruce watched as Clark walked toward the door, then, right before Clark stepped out, he called after him.

“Hey, Kent.”

Clark turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Bruce smirked. “You ever bring me flowers again, at least pick something that complements my aesthetic.”

Clark rolled his eyes, smiling. “Noted.”

Then he was gone. Bruce exhaled, staring at the ceiling for a moment before rubbing a hand over his face.

That man is going to be a problem. He just wasn’t sure what kind yet.

—-——————

Clark flew over the city, high enough that the world below blurred into patches of glowing light and darkened streets. The wind whipped past him, crisp and cool against his skin, but it did nothing to settle the storm inside his head.

He should be focusing on the investigation. On Luthor. On the weapons trade.

Instead, his mind kept looping back to—

Bruce.

Bruce, leaning in.

Bruce, drunk and reckless, inches from kissing him.

Clark groaned loudly, rubbing his face with one hand as he flew.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d stopped Bruce. Maybe it was because of the whiskey, because it wouldn’t have been real, just some half-conscious impulse. But if Bruce hadn’t been drunk?

Clark’s stomach twisted, because if he was being honest with himself—dangerously honest—he knew exactly what would have happened.

He would’ve let it happen. Maybe even leaned in first.

Clark groaned again, shifting direction mid-air and heading toward Metropolis at a speed that probably wasn’t necessary.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He had gone into this with a purpose: Get close to Bruce Wayne. Gather intel. Figure out what the hell he’s hiding.

At no point did that strategy involve developing feelings for the man. Clark shook his head. No. Not feelings. Just… a moment.

A moment that could have turned into something else. He exhaled sharply. This was getting complicated.

Bruce was frustrating, cocky, and entirely too good at keeping secrets. He was also brilliant, unpredictable, and, dammit, fun.

Clark had spent years keeping himself at a distance from most people. Being Superman meant responsibility. It meant control. He never let himself get too close to anyone, never let himself indulge in things that could become distractions.

Bruce had slipped past those defenses without Clark even realizing it. Clark wasn’t sure what to do with that.

By the time he reached Metropolis, he had at least managed to calm down somewhat. The situation hadn’t changed. He still needed to figure out what Bruce Wayne was up to. He still needed to stop Luthor. And he still needed to not think about what might have happened if Bruce had been sober.

Clark landed on his balcony, stepping inside his apartment and running a hand through his hair.

This wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

Lex Luthor stood at the edge of the dimly lit lab, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the work before him. Holographic schematics flickered across the walls—alien weapon designs, energy signatures extracted from recovered debris, prototypes that shouldn’t exist on Earth but now did.

His scientists worked in hushed efficiency, moving between workstations, adjusting power outputs, running simulations. Luthor didn’t need to tell them to hurry. They knew better than to waste his time. A cold smile tugged at his lips. Everything was falling into place. Well, almost everything.

Footsteps echoed behind him, followed by a voice laced with sharp amusement. “You look pleased with yourself, Luthor.”

Luthor didn’t turn immediately. He already knew who it was.

Talia al Ghul.

She strode into the room with effortless grace, her emerald green dress clinging to her like shadows woven into silk. Daughter of the Demon. And, for now, his business partner.

Luthor allowed himself a smirk. “Why shouldn’t I be? The project is ahead of schedule. Gotham’s underworld is playing its part in the distribution. And soon, we’ll have a fully weaponized system ready for deployment.”

Talia stopped beside him, folding her arms. “Perhaps. But your operation in Metropolis has drawn more attention than you anticipated.”

Luthor exhaled, unimpressed. “Superman.”

Talia’s lips curled slightly. “Among others.”

Luthor’s eyes flickered toward her. “The Bat?”

Talia tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “He’s always been a thorn in my father’s side. It would not surprise me if he’s begun to suspect something.”

Luthor’s jaw tightened. Batman had resources, but more than that, he had annoying persistence. He wasn’t someone who simply walked away when something didn’t add up. Still, Luthor wasn’t worried.

“He can dig all he wants,” Luthor said smoothly. “There’s nothing for him to find.”

Talia smirked. “Then you underestimate him.”

Luthor studied her. “And you overestimate him.”

Talia chuckled. “Do I?”

Luthor exhaled, turning back to the schematics. “Regardless, it won’t matter soon. Our primary phase is nearly complete.”

Talia stepped closer, her gaze scanning the blueprints. “And the next phase?”

Luthor smiled, pressing a button on the terminal. The projections shifted, revealing a much larger blueprint.

.

Talia’s expression darkened slightly as she studied the design. “That is… beyond what we discussed.”

Luthor’s smile widened. “It’s called adaptation.”

Talia’s fingers grazed the projection, her eyes calculating. “You intend to push the limits of these materials.”

Luthor stepped forward, his voice calm, deliberate. “Superman is powerful. But power can be matched. Outthought. Surpassed.”

Talia exhaled through her nose. “You truly believe this will make a difference?”

Luthor’s smile was razor-sharp. “It won’t just make a difference. It will change everything.”

Talia studied him for a long moment. “You play a dangerous game, Luthor.”

Luthor chuckled. “The only kind worth playing.”

Soon, the board would belong to him.

—-——————

The Justice League had scattered across the world and beyond, each member tasked with uncovering the growing conspiracy surrounding the alien weapons trade.

Now, one by one, they returned with answers.

Wonder Woman stood at the head of the table, arms crossed as holographic projections flickered across the display. Intel. Reports. Coordinates. The puzzle pieces were finally coming together.

She glanced around the room as the League gathered, each member having returned from their assignments. “Report,” she said firmly.

GL leaned forward, tapping his ring against the console, pulling up classified Green Lantern Corps records. The glowing script was still partially redacted, but the data was clear enough.

“The Guardians finally gave me partial access to the file I found,” John said. “The energy signatures in Luthor’s weapons? They match records from an extinct race called the Vrang.”

Flash frowned. “Never heard of ‘em.”

GL nodded. “Most people haven’t. They were wiped out over ten thousand years ago by their own technology.”

Superman’s expression darkened.

GL adjusted the hologram, zooming in on ancient battle reports. “The Vrang were advanced, but paranoid. They experimented with hybrid weapons, combining multiple off-world technologies. Eventually, they lost control. Their own machines turned against them.”

Wonder Woman’s jaw tightened. “And now, Luthor has access to those same designs.”

GL nodded grimly. “Which means if he keeps modifying them, we could be looking at something catastrophic.”

Cyborg’s cybernetic eye glowed as he pulled up a full financial and logistics breakdown of Veridus Industries.

“These guys are more than just a front,” Cyborg said. “They’ve been buying decommissioned military bases all over the world. The shipments we traced? They weren’t just smuggling weapons.” He pulled up blueprints of hidden facilities, scattered across multiple continents. “They were moving entire research divisions.”

Batman leaned forward. “How many locations?”

Cyborg sighed. “At least five confirmed so far. Possibly more.”

Superman clenched his fists. “Luthor is building something bigger than we thought.”

Flash spun the chair he was sitting in, kicking his feet up. “So, I did some digging, literally, in some cases. And turns out, Gotham’s crime families have been purchasing alien-enhanced weaponry at an alarming rate.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “From Veridus?”

Flash nodded. “Yeah, but that’s not the weird part. The people selling them? They don’t know where the tech is actually coming from.” He leaned forward. “It’s like someone is deliberately keeping the source hidden, even from their own distributors.”

Wonder Woman exchanged a glance with Batman. “Another layer to the operation.”

Batman’s voice was cold. “Which means there’s someone else in play.”

Aquaman set his trident against the table. “The Atlantic shipment I intercepted? There’s more where that came from.” He gestured at the map. “My scouts found hidden supply routes running deep beneath international waters.”

Superman frowned. “Someone’s trying to keep these shipments invisible.”

Arthur nodded. “And it’s working. Even Atlantean sensors barely picked up the movement. Whoever is organizing this knows how to stay off the radar.”

Batman exhaled sharply. “Then we need to make them visible.”

The Justice League stood in silence for a moment, absorbing everything they had uncovered.

Luthor. Veridus Industries. Hidden research facilities. Alien weapons designed to destroy entire civilizations. A second player.

Superman’s voice was firm. “We need to act before this escalates.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “Agreed. We dismantle their operations one facility at a time.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll take Gotham.”

Cyborg gestured at the map. “I’ll start scrubbing their systems remotely. If they have deeper hiding spots, I’ll find them.”

Flash cracked his knuckles. “I’ll shake down the black market. Someone has to know more than they’re saying.”

Aquman nodded. “I’ll track down every underwater trade route they’ve been using.”

Superman’s eyes burned. “And I’ll go directly to Luthor.”

Batman glanced at him. “He won’t give you anything.”

Superman’s expression was steel. “I don’t need him to. I just need him to know we’re watching.”

Wonder Woman’s gaze swept over them. “Then we move now.”

The League nodded as one.

—-——————

Gotham City 

The night was thick with rain, Gotham’s skyline barely visible through the heavy downpour. Batman moved like a shadow through the abandoned warehouse, his steps silent against the damp concrete. The facility was supposed to be empty, but he knew better.

Someone was here. The air felt wrong.

His gloved fingers tightened around a batarang, eyes scanning the darkness as he advanced deeper into the building. The place had been cleared out, crates overturned, data servers wiped clean, only the faint scent of scorched metal left behind.

But then—

A whisper of movement.

A blade sliced through the air toward him.

Batman twisted at the last second, barely dodging the strike as a curved sword slashed past his ribs. He rolled backward, catching himself just in time to see his attacker step forward—graceful, precise, and entirely unsurprised to see him.

Talia.

She stood before him, dressed in dark combat armor, her emerald green eyes sharp beneath the hooded cloak she wore. The rain glistened off the steel of her sword as she twirled it once before lowering it to her side.

“You’re getting slower, Beloved.”

Batman rose to his full height, tossing the batarang aside. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”

Talia smirked. “You wound me.”

“Not yet,” he muttered.

Talia sighed, circling him slowly. “I knew you’d come here eventually. I almost hoped you wouldn’t.”

Batman’s cape shifted as he moved, tracking her. “Then you should have done a better job covering your tracks.”

Talia tsked. “It wasn’t my trail you followed. It was Lex Luthor’s.”

Batman’s expression didn’t change, but inside, his mind clicked into place. She was working with Luthor. Which meant the League of Assassins was deeply involved in whatever Veridus was really planning.

Batman’s voice was low, steady. “Tell me what Luthor’s building.”

Talia tilted her head. “Why ruin the surprise?”

Batman took a step forward, eyes locked on hers. “Because whatever you think this is, whatever Luthor promised you, it’s bigger than that.”

Talia smirked. “You always think you see the bigger picture.”

Batman didn’t blink. “Because I do.”

Talia’s smirk faltered just slightly, but she covered it well. “And what is it you think I don’t see?”

Batman’s voice was ice. “That this isn’t just another power grab. This is annihilation.”

Talia’s grip on her sword tightened, but she didn’t move.

Batman pressed forward. “Luthor isn’t just selling weapons. He’s rebuilding something he doesn’t understand, and if he succeeds, there won’t be a League of Assassins left to rise from the ashes.”

Talia’s gaze flickered, her usual confidence dimming for a fraction of a second.

“You know I’m right.”

Talia exhaled, stepping back slightly, her sword lowering. “You’re as dramatic as ever.”

Batman didn’t waver. “Walk away from this, Talia. Before it’s too late.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Talia slid her sword back into its sheath.

“You always did have a way of ruining my plans,” she murmured.

Batman’s voice was even. “And I’ll ruin this one, too.”

Talia sighed, stepping back into the shadows. “We’ll see, Beloved.”

Then, in the next blink, she was gone. Batman remained still, listening to the silence she left behind. Talia was dangerous. She was unpredictable. But most importantly? She was rethinking her choices. That meant Luthor’s plan had just become unstable.

—-——————

Talia strode through the ancient stone corridors of the League’s hidden stronghold, the cold mountain air biting at her skin even through the thick silks of her cloak. The fortress was older than most civilizations, built in the shadows of history itself.

She had left Gotham with a fire burning in her chest, anger and unease twisting together like warring vipers. Batman’s words still rang in her mind. This isn’t just another power grab. This is annihilation.

And she knew, deep down, that he was right.

She approached the massive iron doors leading into the central war chamber. The two guards stationed there stepped aside immediately, bowing as she passed.

Inside, Ra’s al Ghul stood at the head of a long stone table, his hands resting atop it as he examined a map marked with Veridus’ supply routes. His robes were dark, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering torchlight.

“Talia,” he greeted, not looking up. “I assume your return means the weapons trade in Gotham is progressing well.”

Talia stopped just short of the table, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. “No.”

Ra’s finally lifted his gaze, his sharp green eyes locking onto hers. “No?”

She took a breath. “We cannot continue working with Luthor.”

A beat of silence. Ra’s exhaled, as if disappointed. “You have let sentimentality cloud your judgment again.”

Talia’s eyes flared. “This is not about sentiment. Luthor has lied to us. He does not only seek power, he seeks domination. And he will burn the world to get it.”

Ra’s studied her, his face calm, impassive. “And?”

Talia took a step closer. “He is building something beyond our grasp. Something that cost an entire civilization its existence.” She placed her hands on the table. “If we continue down this path, the League will not survive what comes next.”

Ra’s exhaled slowly, straightening. “You speak as if Luthor is a fool.”

“He is,” she said sharply. “And that makes him more dangerous than anyone realizes.”

Ra’s regarded her carefully. “I do not make alliances lightly, Daughter. Luthor has resources, influence, and the mind of a tactician.”

Talia shook her head. “He has arrogance. And arrogance has undone kings and empires alike.”

Ra’s expression darkened. “Careful.”

Talia did not waver. “I will not stand by while the League is used as a tool for destruction we cannot control.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy as stone.

Then, Ra’s stepped around the table, circling her like a predator assessing its prey. “You have spent too long in Gotham. Too long near him.”

Talia’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t flinch.

Ra’s continued, his voice quiet but sharp. “Have you forgotten our purpose? We do not fear destruction. We are agents of it.”

Talia met his gaze. “We are agents of rebirth. And what Luthor is planning? It will leave nothing to be reborn from.”

Ra’s studied her for a long moment, the firelight casting shadows across his face.

Then, slowly, he smiled. “So,” he mused. “Even you have your limits.”

Talia held her ground. “I will not lead the League into oblivion.”

Ra’s tilted his head, considering. Then, to her surprise, he nodded.

“You have my attention,” he admitted. “We will confront Luthor.”

Talia exhaled, relief tempered by the knowledge that this fight was far from over.

Ra’s turned toward the map, stroking his beard in thought. “Gather our forces. We will see if Luthor is as invincible as he believes.”

Talia bowed her head slightly, then turned on her heel, her mind already calculating the next steps. Batman had been right. Now, it was her turn to make a move.

—-——————

Superman hovered just outside the glass-walled penthouse of Lex Luthor, his cape billowing in the wind as he stared through the reinforced windows.

Inside, Lex sat behind his massive, polished desk, a tumbler of amber liquid in hand, looking entirely unbothered. Luthor had expected him.

Superman narrowed his eyes, then floated downward, landing lightly on the penthouse balcony. With a slow push, he opened the doors himself, they were unlocked.

An invitation.

Superman stepped inside, his boots barely making a sound on the marble floor.

Luthor didn’t rise. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, watching him like a scientist might observe a particularly interesting test subject.

“Superman,” Luthor said smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Superman folded his arms. “Drop the act, Luthor.”

Luthor smirked. “Which one?”

Superman’s jaw tightened. “I know what you’re doing.”

Luthor leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass in his hand. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m a very busy man.”

Superman stepped closer, eyes burning. “The alien weapons trade. The modified technology. Veridus Industries. You’ve been hiding in the shadows, but we both know you’re the one pulling the strings.”

Luthor’s smirk didn’t falter. “You really should give me more credit, Superman. If I were truly behind something that sinister, don’t you think I’d be a little more discreet?”

Superman glared. “You’ve never been discreet. You’re just careful. But you made a mistake.” He nodded toward Luthor’s desk. “And I have enough evidence to start unraveling this entire operation.”

Luthor chuckled, setting his drink down. “You’re always so dramatic.”

Superman took another step forward, closing the distance between them. “This ends tonight.”

Luthor sighed theatrically. “You always see the world in such black and white, don’t you? But tell me, Superman, do you even know what you’re trying to stop?”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re stockpiling technology that destroyed an entire civilization. You think you can control it, but you can’t.”

Luthor tilted his head. “Can’t I?”

Superman’s gaze hardened. “No.”

Luthor leaned forward, his smirk turning razor-sharp. “Then maybe I should show you.”

Before Superman could react, a hidden compartment in the desk slid open. A small, sleek device emitting a low green glow rose from the concealed vault, the air around it immediately shifting as the radiation pulsed outward.

Superman stumbled back.

His breath hitched, pain lancing through his chest like a knife twisting beneath his ribs. Kryptonite.

Luthor stood, straightening his tie. “You know, you really should have seen this coming.”

Superman tried to move, but his legs gave out. He hit the floor hard, gasping as the poison seeped into his system.

Luthor sighed, stepping around the desk, crouching just enough to meet Superman’s gaze.

“Don’t worry,” Luthor said softly, almost mockingly. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Superman barely heard him over the pounding in his head.

Luthor smiled. “Not yet, anyway.”

Then—darkness.

—-——————

Pain.

It was the first thing Clark felt as consciousness returned. A deep, gnawing ache that pulsed through his muscles, through his bones. It was unlike any pain he’d ever experienced, something more than Kryptonite poisoning. Something worse.

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the harsh glow of artificial lights. The room was cold, sterile, a laboratory deep within LexCorp Tower, reinforced steel walls lined with machines pulsing with alien energy.

Clark tried to move, but he couldn’t. Thick restraints locked him to a reinforced metal platform, his wrists and ankles bound by some kind of energy cuffs, glowing with the same eerie blue hue as the weapons Batman had recovered. 

Luthor’s voice cut through the haze. “Ah. You’re awake.”

Clark turned his head to see Luthor standing at the console nearby, adjusting the dials with precise, methodical movements. He wasn’t alone. A group of LexCorp scientists moved around the lab, monitoring screens, jotting down notes.

Clark inhaled sharply, trying to push through the burning weight in his chest. “Luthor,” he rasped.

Luthor turned, smirking. “Welcome back, Superman.”

Clark clenched his fists, testing the restraints, but his strength wasn’t returning.

Luthor watched him struggle with amusement. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” He gestured toward the restraints. “You’ve faced Kryptonite before, but this is something new.”

Clark gritted his teeth. “What did you do?”

Luthor stepped closer, hands in his pockets, inspecting Clark like a specimen under a microscope.

“I told you, Superman,” Luthor said smoothly. “You don’t even understand what you’re trying to stop.” He gestured at the glowing machinery surrounding them. “This technology, it isn’t just alien. It’s ancient. A civilization so advanced that even Kryptonians feared it.”

Clark’s breath hitched.

Luthor smirked, catching his reaction. “Ah. So you do know something.”

Clark didn’t answer, his mind racing.

Luthor turned back toward the main control panel. “You should feel honored, Superman. You’re about to be part of history.”

Clark’s jaw clenched. “What are you talking about?”

Luthor pressed a button. The energy surged. Clark’s body arched against the restraints as a wave of burning power shot through him. His vision flickered, muscles locking, veins pulsing with an energy that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside.

Luthor watched, fascinated. “This technology was designed to counteract some of the strongest lifeforms in the universe. Do you know what that means, Superman?”

Clark gasped, barely able to focus through the pain. Luthor’s voice lowered. “It means I finally found a way to break you.”

Clark strained against the restraints, but his strength was fading.

Luthor smirked. “Let’s see how much you can take.” Then he turned the dial higher.

Clark screamed.

—-——————

Pain had become a constant, a sickening pulse that radiated through Clark’s entire body.

He barely registered his surroundings anymore. Bright lights. The hum of alien machines. The voices of LexCorp scientists monitoring his reactions like he was nothing more than a test subject.

Clark’s wrists and ankles were still bound by energy restraints, glowing with the same eerie blue hue as the alien tech scattered around the lab. Every time he tried to gather strength, a pulse of energy surged through his body, robbing him of his power.

Luthor stood nearby, watching with that infuriatingly calm expression as another surge of energy crackled through the restraints. Clark gritted his teeth, but he wouldn’t scream again. He wouldn’t give Luthor the satisfaction.

Luthor tilted his head. “Fascinating. Even with your nervous system being overwhelmed, you’re still fighting. That resilience… it’s truly something.”

Clark forced his breathing to steady. Luthor was testing him. No, worse—he was testing the tech on him.

Clark clenched his fists, trying to push through the dizziness. “You won’t win, Luthor.”

Luthor chuckled. “You really don’t get it, do you?” He gestured at the hovering displays. “I already have.”

Clark’s stomach twisted.

Luthor smiled. “The way I see it, I’ve achieved something no one else has. You, the so-called Man of Steel, are finally bendable.”

Clark glared at him. “You think you can control something like this?”

Luthor’s smirk widened. “I don’t think, Superman. I know.”

Before Clark could respond, a sudden boom echoed through the facility. Alarms flared to life. The scientists looked up in shock as security monitors flickered.

Then the reinforced doors burst open. And in stepped Ra’s al Ghul and Talia. Clark barely managed to lift his head, blinking through the haze.

Luthor’s smirk vanished. “Ah. I was expecting you sooner.”

Ra’s moved first, his presence commanding. His robes were pristine, his blade gleaming at his side. Talia followed, her emerald gaze sweeping the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on Clark’s restrained form before locking onto Luthor.

“You were a fool to think you could deceive the League of Assassins, Luthor,” Ra’s said, voice smooth but lethal.

Luthor barely looked fazed. He adjusted his cuffs. “Deception is such a harsh word.”

Talia’s voice was sharper. “You assured us this project would be controlled.” She gestured toward Clark. “And yet, here you are, experimenting on something you cannot possibly understand.”

Luthor chuckled, stepping forward. “And here you are, posturing as if you ever had control in the first place.”

Ra’s’ expression darkened. “You were given our resources. Our people. And you squandered them.”

Luthor sighed. “You misunderstand. This isn’t about power, or money, or whatever grand vision you have of the world.” His gaze flickered toward Superman. “This is about evolution.”

Talia’s hand went to the hilt of her blade. “You’ve lost your mind.”

Luthor grinned. “Have I?”

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he pressed a button on the console. The restraints around Clark surged with another pulse of alien energy. Clark gasped, his vision blurring white.

Talia stepped forward instantly, drawing her sword. “Enough.”

Luthor merely smirked. “You came to confront me, but here’s the thing, you need me.”

Ra’s watched him carefully. “Enlighten me.”

Luthor gestured at the room. “You’ve seen what these weapons can do. The modifications. The power. Imagine what happens if it’s perfected.”

Talia’s grip on her sword tightened. “And if it isn’t?”

Luthor’s smile didn’t falter. “Then we let him find out.” He nodded toward Clark, who was barely holding onto consciousness.

Ra’s narrowed his eyes. “You overestimate your place in this arrangement, Luthor.”

Luthor exhaled, stepping closer to the League’s leader. “Do I? You wanted the world reborn. I’m giving you the fire to burn it down.”

Silence hung in the air. Then Ra’s chuckled. Soft. Amused. But dangerous.

“You are arrogant beyond reason, Luthor,” Ra’s murmured. “That will be your undoing.”

Luthor tilted his head. “And yet, you haven’t stopped me.”

Ra’s smirked. “Not yet.”

Then, faster than anyone in the room could react, Talia moved. Her sword slashed through the control panel, sparks flying as the machines powering Clark’s restraints overloaded.

Luthor’s eyes widened. “What—”

A pulse of blue energy exploded outward, shattering the bindings around Clark’s wrists and ankles. The moment the restraints failed, Clark dropped to the floor, gasping.

Talia sheathed her blade, looking down at him. “Consider this my mercy, Superman.”

Clark tried to move, tried to focus, but his body wasn’t ready.

Luthor reeled back, fury flashing across his face. “You—”

Ra’s cut him off. “Your partnership with the League is over.”

Luthor exhaled sharply, regaining his composure. “You’re making a mistake.”

Ra’s’ smirk returned. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that.”

Then, with the sound of distant gunfire and chaos breaking out in the halls, Ra’s turned to his daughter. “We’re done here.”

Talia gave Clark one last glance. Then, without another word, they disappeared into the shadows.

Luthor cursed, slamming his fist against the ruined console. Then his gaze snapped toward Superman, who was still weakened on the floor. The fury in Luthor’s eyes faded.

A slow, wicked smile returned. “Well,” he murmured. “Guess it’s just the two of us now.”

Clark barely had the strength to respond. Luthor was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Lois paced her apartment, phone clutched tightly in her hand, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Clark was never this late. She had ignored the first couple of hours, telling herself he was just caught up in whatever he was investigating. Maybe he found something big and needed time to sort it out.

Then the deadline passed. And Clark had told her explicitly that if he ever went radio silent for too long, if he ever disappeared without a word, she was to make one call.

Lois exhaled sharply, then scrolled through her phone. The number was unlisted, something Clark had slipped to her months ago, just in case.

Her fingers hovered over the call button. She clicked dial. The line rang twice.

Then a voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakably dangerous—answered. “How did you get this number?”

Lois didn’t flinch. “You know how.”

A pause. Then, Batman’s voice lowered even further. “Lane.”

She exhaled. “Clark told me to contact you if something went wrong. And I think something’s very wrong.”

Silence stretched on the other end, but Lois knew he was still there. Listening. Calculating.

Then, finally: “When was the last time you heard from him?”

Lois swallowed hard. “Over twelve hours ago. He said he was going to confront Luthor.”

She heard a sharp inhale. Then, a shift in tone. “Stay where you are.”

Lois frowned. “Wait—”

Click .

The line went dead. Lois exhaled, running a hand through her hair. Batman was already moving. And if he was worried, then Clark was in real trouble.

—-——————

Lois had barely set her phone down before a sharp knock rattled her apartment door. Her heart skipped a beat.

She crossed the room quickly, pausing only for a second before unlocking the door. Batman stood in the hallway.

Lois had never seen him up close before, not like this. The Gotham vigilante was imposing, even in the warm glow of her apartment lights. His black suit absorbed the dim light of the hallway, his cape draped around him like a shadow come to life.

His gaze, barely visible beneath the cowl, was ice-cold. “Talk,” he said.

Lois swallowed and stepped aside, letting him in. Batman strode in without hesitation, his movements deliberate, controlled.

She shut the door behind him, arms crossing. “I don’t even know if he found anything. All I know is he was supposed to check in, and he didn’t.”

Batman turned to face her, his presence overwhelming in the small space. “Start from the beginning.”

Lois nodded, taking a steadying breath. “He said he was going to confront Luthor—nothing reckless, just a warning. He wasn’t planning to fight. Just… let Luthor know we were onto him.” She shook her head. “That was yesterday. I gave him time, but he always keeps me updated. Always.”

Batman’s jaw clenched. He had already pieced together what must have happened.

“You said he wasn’t planning to fight,” Batman repeated. “That means he underestimated what he was walking into.”

Lois frowned. “You think Luthor set a trap?”

“I know he did,” Batman said darkly.

Lois sat down, rubbing her temples. “Damn it, Clark.”

Batman paced slightly, his cape shifting behind him as he calculated. “Luthor has access to alien technology, including Kryptonite. If he wanted to take Superman out, he wouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

Lois looked up sharply. “Take him out?”

Batman shook his head. “Not kill. If he wanted him dead, there wouldn’t be a delay. No, Luthor’s doing something else.”

Lois’s jaw tightened. “So what’s the plan?”

“I find him,” Batman said simply, already moving toward the door.

Lois stood quickly. “Wait. How? You don’t even know where to start.”

Batman turned back to her, his eyes calculating. “Yes, I do.”

Lois blinked. “What?”

Batman’s voice was ice. “Luthor has him. That means he’s either in LexCorp Tower or a secured off-site facility. Either way, I’ll find him.”

Lois stepped closer. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Batman’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

Lois narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll slow me down.”

Lois huffed. “Oh, screw you, Batboy.”

Batman actually paused for half a second. Then, he exhaled. “You want to help? Stay here. If Luthor realizes we’re coming, he’ll move Superman. I need to go in quietly.”

Lois clenched her fists, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. She hated feeling useless. But Batman was already turning toward the window.

Lois exhaled sharply. “Just… bring him back.”

Batman didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

Then, in the next breath, he was gone. Lois ran to the window, watching as he fired a grapple, disappearing into the Metropolis skyline. Her heart was hammering.

Superman was in danger. And Batman was on the hunt.

—-——————

Clark groaned as he tried to lift his head, but the moment he moved, agony lanced through his body.

He was still on the table, barely conscious, his body weak from the alien energy surges. Now, something worse spread through him a searing, venomous burn deep in his muscles.

Luthor stood over him, rolling up his sleeves like a surgeon preparing for a procedure.

“Now, now, Superman,” he said smoothly. “You really should stop fighting. You’ll only make it worse.”

Clark grit his teeth, his vision swimming. Something was wrong.

He could feel it—sharp, foreign. Embedded in his skin. Kryptonite. Not a chunk. Not a single, concentrated dose.

Tiny shards. Luthor had laced his skin with Kryptonite splinters.

Clark gasped as the burning intensified, his body rejecting the foreign invasion, his Kryptonian cells fighting to heal, but unable to push the shards out.

Luthor smirked as he held up a pair of surgical forceps, glinting under the sterile lights. “You should appreciate the craftsmanship. I had these shards carved down to microscopic slivers. Just small enough to bypass your natural resistance, just big enough to tear you apart from the inside.”

Clark tried to move, but every attempt sent another wave of sickening pain through his body.

Luthor crouched beside him, his smirk widening. “How does it feel, Superman? To be brought so low?”

Clark glared up at him, struggling for breath. “You… won’t… win.”

Luthor chuckled, standing again. “Ah, you still believe in that nonsense.” He shook his head. “This isn’t about winning or losing. This is about proving a point.”

He gestured to the ruined control panel Talia had destroyed. “They had the right idea, the League of Assassins. They understand what must be done to reshape the world. But they were too hesitant. Too traditional.”

Luthor’s eyes darkened. “I’m better.”

Clark clenched his jaw, fighting the waves of pain crawling through his system.

“Don’t worry, Superman. This isn’t your end. I still need you alive for now. After all, what better way to ensure I’ve perfected my designs than by testing them on you?”

Clark barely had time to process those words before Luthor turned to the scientists. “Prepare the next wave of tests.”

A technician hesitated. “Sir, his vitals—”

Luthor’s smile vanished. “Do as I said.”

The scientist swallowed hard, nodding before hurrying to the console.

Clark gritted his teeth. He had to get out of here. But the Kryptonite shards… he could feel them twisting inside him. Luthor turned back to him, lifting a small Kryptonite scalpel. Clark tensed.

“This might sting a little.”

Then—

BOOM .

The reinforced doors exploded inward, sending debris flying. The lights flickered, sparks raining down from the ceiling. Luthor barely had time to turn before Batman emerged from the smoke, cape billowing, a grapple launcher still raised in his hand.

His eyes locked onto Superman’s restrained form. And his entire body tensed.

Luthor scowled. “You are really starting to irritate me, Batty.”

Before he could react, a golden lasso shot through the smoke, wrapping around Luthor’s wrist and yanking him backward. He barely had time to gasp before Wonder Woman stepped into the room, sword drawn, eyes burning with fury.

“Enough,” she said coldly.

Clark, still gasping for breath, felt relief wash over him.

Batman was already moving, sweeping through the lab with precision, his eyes scanning the monitors, the restraints, then the Kryptonite scalpel in Luthor’s hand. His jaw tightened.

“Luthor,” he said, voice deadly quiet. “What did you do?”

Luthor exhaled, shaking his head. “Always with the drama.”

Diana yanked the lasso, pulling Luthor forward and slamming him onto the floor.

He grunted, glaring up at her. “You’re making a mistake.”

Wonder Woman tightened the lasso. “We’ll see.”

Meanwhile, Batman was already beside Superman, kneeling down. His eyes flickered over Clark’s body, then went wide when he saw the faint green glint of the Kryptonite shards embedded in his skin.

Clark barely managed a breath. “Took… you long enough.”

Batman didn’t smile. His face was set in stone. “Hold still.”

Clark felt it before he saw it—the sharp, controlled movements as Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled out a pair of forceps and a specialized extraction device.

Clark groaned sharply as Batman worked quickly, pulling out the first shard with surgical precision. Clark exhaled, already feeling a fraction of his strength returning.

Batman’s jaw was tight, his movements swift and efficient. “He embedded these directly into your muscle fibers.” His voice was cold

Clark knew that tone. Batman was furious.

But right now? He needed him steady.

“Just get… them out,” Clark rasped.

Batman didn’t hesitate.

Wonder Woman, still holding Luthor down, turned toward the scientists, her glare sharp. “All of you down. Now.”

The remaining lab technicians hesitated, then dropped to their knees as the Amazon princess stared them down.

Luthor, still restrained, chuckled softly. “You people never see the bigger picture.”

Batman, pulling out another shard, snapped without looking at him. “Shut up, Luthor.”

Luthor smirked, but he stayed silent.

The extraction was painful, Clark had to grit his teeth through each removal. But with every shard Batman pulled out, the fog in his mind began to clear. His strength started to return.

Luthor noticed and his smirk wavered.

Batman pulled the final shard free, tossing it aside. Clark inhaled sharply, air filling his lungs properly again. Then, Superman lifted his head—gaze locking onto Luthor.

The fear flickered across Luthor’s face for just a second. Luthor took a slow step back, his expression shifting. “Well,” he said carefully. “I suppose this is where things get—”

Before he could finish, Clark surged forward, breaking free of the remaining restraints in an instant.

Luthor barely had time to react before Superman grabbed him by the front of his suit and lifted him off the ground. The lab rumbled. Luthor froze.

Clark’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’re going to wish you never did that.”

Clark held Luthor suspended in the air, his grip tight around the front of the billionaire’s pristine suit. The world had finally stopped spinning, his body surging with renewed power now that the Kryptonite shards were gone.

The lab was filled with a tense silence, only the hum of malfunctioning machines and the heavy breathing of scientists frozen in fear.

Clark’s voice was low, steady, but thrumming with barely controlled fury. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

Luthor managed a chuckle, but it lacked confidence. “Now, Superman. That doesn’t sound very heroic.”

Clark tightened his grip, causing the seams of Luthor’s suit to strain. Behind him, Batman and Wonder Woman stood silently, watching. They didn’t intervene. Didn’t tell him to stop.

Luthor’s smirk twitched, but there was a flicker of real unease in his eyes now. “Alright. Fine. What do you want to know?”

Clark’s eyes burned. “The weapons. The tech. The Vrang. Tell me everything.”

Luthor exhaled, attempting to regain his composure. “The Vrang were wiped out thousands of years ago. But their legacy—their ingenuity—remains.”

Clark gritted his teeth. “So you decided to recreate their weapons?”

Luthor grinned again, his fear momentarily overridden by his arrogance. “I decided to perfect them.”

Clark’s jaw clenched.

Luthor continued, his voice smooth. “You see, Superman, what I’ve been building is more than just a weapon. It’s a new era. A force that will render traditional warfare obsolete.”

Batman, still standing beside the ruined control panel, spoke for the first time. “And how does embedding Kryptonite into Superman’s body help with that?”

Luthor chuckled. “Consider it a field test.”

Clark’s fingers twitched. The urge to do more than just hold Luthor was dangerously tempting.

“The Vrang were fools,” Luthor mused. “They let their own weapons destroy them because they lacked vision. I, on the other hand, have vision .” His gaze flickered between the three of them. “And with my improvements? The future belongs to me.”

Clark’s patience snapped. With a single movement, he threw Luthor across the room.

Luthor collided into a reinforced wall with a heavy thud, the impact cracking the concrete. The scientists gasped, frozen in shock as Luthor groaned, slumping forward.

Clark strode toward him, every step heavy, controlled. Luthor coughed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. He looked up at Superman and laughed.

“Look at you,” Luthor croaked. “Acting like a god among men. No different than what I’ve always said.”

Clark grabbed him by the front of his suit again, yanking him up. “I don’t play god,” Clark growled. “I protect people from monsters like you.”

Luthor grinned, even through the pain. “Oh, Superman,” he whispered. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

Clark narrowed his eyes. Luthor leaned in slightly, voice a murmur. “I’m not the only one playing this game.”

Clark froze. Batman immediately stiffened, sensing the shift.

Wonder Woman took a step forward, sword still in hand. “What does that mean?” she demanded.

Luthor chuckled again, his breath shaky. “You think I’ve been doing this with only myself and the League?”

Clark’s grip tightened.

Batman’s voice was sharp. “Who are you working with?”

Luthor’s grin widened, his lip still bleeding. “Oh, Batman,” he murmured. “You’re a detective. Figure it out.”

Clark pulled him up higher, his fingers trembling slightly with the sheer restraint it took not to snap Luthor’s collarbone. “Talk. Now.”

Luthor’s gaze flickered toward Batman. “You already know. You’ve been looking in all the right places. You just haven’t connected the dots yet.”

Then, he let out a mocking sigh. “But by the time you do, it won’t matter.”

Clark slammed him against the wall again. “Who. Is. Involved?”

Luthor exhaled sharply, “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Batman moved beside Superman, his voice low. “He’s stalling.”

Clark gritted his teeth because Batman was right. They weren’t getting anything else out of him.

Wonder Woman stepped forward, lifting her golden lasso. “Then we do this my way.”

Luthor’s smirk finally dropped completely. But before she could loop the lasso around him, a deafening explosion rocked the entire facility. The ceiling shook, alarms blaring as emergency lights flickered.

Batman’s eyes snapped toward the entrance. “They’re blowing the building.”

Clark’s stomach dropped. Luthor grinned again, even as debris rained down.

“Oh dear,” he mused. “Looks like my friends don’t want me talking after all.”

Batman grabbed Clark’s shoulder. “We need to move. Now.”

Clark hesitated, his fist still clenched. He wanted to drag Luthor out. To make him answer. But Batman was right. The building was collapsing.

Wonder Woman’s lasso whipped forward, binding Luthor’s hands in one swift motion. “Then you’re coming with us.”

Luthor laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Before any of them could react, a secondary explosion erupted from the ceiling, sending a massive chunk of steel collapsing between them and Luthor. Clark shielded Batman and Diana with his body as debris rained down, fire erupting from the walls.

When the dust settled, Luthor was gone. Clark spun, scanning through the smoke with his vision, searching… Nothing.

Batman cursed under his breath.

Wonder Woman exhaled, releasing her lasso. “Coward.”

Clark’s fists shook. Luthor had escaped. But not before confirming what Clark had feared all along. Luthor had a larger network than anticipated.

And whoever was backing him? They were willing to do anything to keep the truth buried.

—-——————

The cool, sterile air of the Batcave was the first thing Clark registered when he woke up. It wasn’t the harsh artificial light of LexCorp’s lab, nor the sickly green glow of Kryptonite. Instead, a warm golden glow bathed over him, sinking deep into his skin, revitalizing him.

Sun lamps. Batman had put him under high-intensity sun lamps.

Clark exhaled, his body still aching, but the Kryptonian cells in his system were already working to repair the damage. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the dim surroundings of the cave.

The sound of keystrokes echoed through the cavern. He turned his head slightly, Batman was at the Batcomputer, fingers moving rapidly across the keys, analyzing data, scanning reports—probably searching for any trace of Luthor’s escape.

Clark groaned as he shifted, and Batman was instantly there.

“You’re awake,” Batman said, his voice sharp but controlled.

Clark smiled weakly. “Guess that means you didn’t let me die.”

Batman didn’t return the smile. Instead, he reached for a small device on the nearby medical tray. A scanner. Checking his vitals.

“You’re an idiot,” Batman said flatly.

Clark chuckled, but it hurt. “Nice to see you too, Bats.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “You should have waited.”

Clark sighed, shifting under the warmth of the lamps. “We didn’t have time to wait.”

Batman’s eyes flickered over him, scanning for any residual Kryptonite traces. The Batcave’s medical tech had already extracted the last microscopic fragments from his system, but Clark was still weakened.

Clark studied him in return. He looked tired.

There were smudges of soot on his armor from the explosion at LexCorp, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Clark exhaled. “You stayed with me the whole time, didn’t you?”

Batman didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

Clark’s voice softened. “Thank you.”

Batman set the scanner down with a little too much force. “You were reckless.”

Clark sighed. “I had to go after Luthor. You know that.”

Batman’s glare was sharp. “You almost got yourself killed.”

Clark met his gaze. “But I didn’t.”

Batman’s fists clenched at his sides. “Because I got there in time.”

Clark sat up slowly, groaning as his muscles protested. “I knew you would.”

Batman looked away, turning his back to him. His hands rested on the console of the computer, tension rolling off of him in waves.

Clark frowned, sensing something deeper. “This isn’t just about me being reckless, is it?” he asked carefully.

Batman exhaled slowly. “Luthor got away.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but we’ll find him. We always do.”

Batman’s fingers curled against the console. “Not just Luthor. Whoever else is backing him.”

Clark’s stomach tightened. “You think they’re more advanced than the League of Assassins?”

Batman turned, eyes hard. “I know it.” He tapped a key, and the massive Batcomputer screen flickered to life, showing intercepted transmissions, financial movements, encrypted messagesr.

Clark’s chest tightened. Clark sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the med bay table, his bare feet hitting the cold stone floor of the cave. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Batman studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, he exhaled. “You need more time under the lamps.”

Clark smirked. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Batman glared. “Lie down before I put you under with tranquilizers.”

Clark chuckled, then winced. “Alright, alright.” He settled back down under the sun lamps, the golden light washing over him again.

Batman lingered for another second, watching him. Then, with a slight nod, he turned back to the Batcomputer.

Clark closed his eyes. For the first time since this whole mess began—he felt safe.

—-——————

The next time Clark woke up, he felt normal.

Well, almost. His body still ached from the Kryptonite exposure, but the deep, gnawing weakness was gone. The sun lamps had worked, his strength was returning.

The air in the Batcave was cool, the quiet hum of computers filling the space. And then—voices.

Clark kept his eyes closed, his super-hearing kicking in as he focused. Two voices.

One was Batman’s, low, controlled, but exhausted. The other was older, refined, with a British accent.

Clark listened, careful not to move.

“He should wake up soon,” Batman muttered.

The other sighed. “And then you’ll do what, Master Bruce? Scowl at him until he miraculously heals faster?”

Clark froze. Master Bruce? His mind raced. Batman—Bruce Wayne.

Clark kept his breathing even, trying to process what he had just heard. Bruce Wayne. The billionaire. The man he had spent weeks investigating. The man he had almost kissed . Batman. The same man who had just saved his life.

Alfred continued, seemingly unaware of the bombshell he had just dropped. “You can’t keep doing this, sir. Putting yourself through hell for people who refuse to take care of themselves—”

Clark felt Batman tense. “Superman is different.”

Alfred sighed. “They always are.”

Clark inhaled slowly. So. Batman was Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne had just saved his life.

Clark wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Clark kept his breathing slow and even, still feigning sleep as he processed what he had just overheard. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible.

And yet, the pieces slotted together in his mind so quickly, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured it out sooner. The effortless wealth, the hidden intelligence, the way Bruce carried himself even when pretending to be nothing more than a careless billionaire, he had seen it all, but never put it together.

Clark exhaled quietly. Alright. What now ? He wasn’t sure. He just knew he couldn’t lie there pretending any longer.

Slowly, he shifted, making a quiet sound of discomfort. Immediately, the conversation between Batman—Bruce—and the British voice stopped.

A pause. “You’re awake,” Batman said, his voice cool but guarded.

Clark blinked his eyes open, squinting slightly against the golden glow of the sun lamps. His body felt stronger now, the last remnants of weakness fading as the solar radiation settled into his cells.

He turned his head, meeting Batman’s too-sharp gaze. The cowl was still on, but now? Clark could see it. See the familiar tilt of Bruce’s jaw, the tension in his posture, the same slight squint Bruce Wayne got whenever he was assessing a situation.

How did I miss this?

The man standing slightly behind Batman was the only one who looked genuinely unbothered.

Clark took a slow breath. He could play this one of two ways: pretend he hadn’t heard anything… or let Bruce know that he knew.

And when had Clark Kent ever been good at lying?

He sat up carefully, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the strength returning to his body. His gaze flicked between the two men.

Then, without missing a beat, he said, “So… ‘Master Bruce,’ huh?”

The other man did not react.

Batman, however, stilled completely. The cave, already quiet, went silent.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but Clark saw it—the briefest flicker of calculation behind his eyes. Then, in the most Bruce Wayne move Clark had ever seen, Batman simply exhaled through his nose and turned back to the Batcomputer.

Clark blinked. “That’s it? That’s your response?”

Bruce tapped a few keys on the console, his voice as flat as ever. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Kent. And Alfred knew better than to use my name.”

Clark let out a disbelieving laugh, rubbing his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How long have you known about me?”

Bruce grunted, “Lois said your name multiple times when she called me for help.”

Alfred, ever composed, stepped forward and placed a steaming cup of tea on the tray beside Clark. “Well, I suppose that’s one less secret between you.”

Clark shook his head, staring at Bruce’s back. “So… what now? You gonna erase my memory? Put me in a cell in the Batcave?”

Bruce did not look up. “If I locked up everyone who figured out my identity, I’d run out of space.”

Clark snorted. “Okay, but I’m guessing I’m not on that list?”

Bruce finally turned, his eyes sharp. “You tell anyone—”

Clark lifted a hand. “I won’t.”

A pause. Bruce studied him carefully, gauging his honesty. Then, after a long moment, he nodded slightly. “Good.”

Clark exhaled, still trying to wrap his head around all of this. “Man. Bruce Wayne is Batman.” He let out another soft chuckle. “This might be the biggest story of my career.”

Bruce’s glare could have cut through steel.

Clark smirked. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Bruce turned back to the computer, clearly done with this conversation. Clark, however, was not.

He stood carefully, testing his balance. “You know, I should have figured it out earlier.”

Bruce did not engage.

Clark walked over, standing beside him. “All the late-night disappearances. The fact that you somehow knew exactly where to be, every time I was investigating something. The charm act? Overplayed.”

Bruce still didn’t look at him.

Clark leaned in slightly. “I gotta admit, though,” he mused, lowering his voice just a little, “the flirting really threw me off. Smart strategy.”

That got a reaction. Bruce’s fingers froze over the keys for exactly one second.

Then, smoothly, he resumed typing. “It wasn’t strategy.”

Clark blinked. Okay. That was unexpected .

Bruce continued without looking up. “You’re annoying. It was just… habit.”

Clark chuckled. “Sure. Habit.”

Bruce’s eyes cut to him. “Are you done?”

Clark grinned. “Not even close.”

Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples. “I should have left you at LexCorp.”

Clark smirked. “Nah. You like having me around.”

Bruce opened his mouth—probably to argue—but Alfred cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen,” the butler said dryly. “Shall we get back to the actual problem?”

Bruce shot Clark a final warning glance, then turned back to the screen. Clark, still smirking, leaned against the console. Fine. They’d drop it for now.

Bruce Wayne was Batman. Clark was never letting him live it down.

Chapter Text

The entire team was gathered around the massive holographic display, the light of the interface casting sharp shadows across their faces. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air.

Wonder Woman stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed as she addressed the League.

“We now know that Lex Luthor was not working alone,” she said. “The League of Assassins was involved, but they have severed ties with him, which means—”

“They were expendable,” Batman finished. His voice was cold, analytical, as he pulled up files and surveillance data on the screen. “Luthor has another benefactor. Someone backing him from the shadows. Someone with access to resources beyond even the League of Assassins.”

Superman, standing at the opposite end of the table, arms crossed, nodded. “Luthor all but admitted it before he escaped. He’s confident.”

Flash leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. “Okay, so, how much bigger are we talking?”

GL folded his arms. “The Guardians restricted access to files on the Vrang’s weapons, that proves they are dangerous enough that the Corps is still keeping tabs on it.”

Cyborg pulled up a holographic display of Veridus Industries, their financial streams and shell companies sprawling across the screen like an intricate web. “I tracked the last few shipments Veridus was moving for Luthor before the League of Assassins dropped him.” He highlighted a shipment schedule. “These are components.”

Superman frowned. “For what?”

Batman’s fingers tapped the screen, zooming in on a newly uncovered set of blueprints. “We don’t know exactly what.”

Aquaman, arms folded, frowned at the display. “Where’s it being built?”

Cyborg shook his head. “That’s the problem. They covered their tracks too well. There are at least five possible locations worldwide, but there’s no data on which one is active.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward. “Then we divide and search them all.”

The League nodded.

Batman gestured at the map. “We need to move fast. It could be close to being operational already.”

Flash cracked his knuckles. “Alright, so, what’s the game plan?”

Batman’s gaze swept over the team as he assigned roles.

“Superman and Green Lantern will search the most heavily fortified location in Eastern Europe—if it’s a decoy, they’ll know quickly. Wonder Woman and Aquaman can investigate the facility in the South Pacific, Flash and Cyborg will track the digital movements of Veridus in real-time, and I will infiltrate the Gotham-based location, where remnants of the League of Assassins’ old contacts might have left a trail.”

Everyone nodded.

Superman met Batman’s gaze. “If any of us find Luthor?”

Batman’s expression was stone. “We take him down. And we make him talk.”

Superman exhaled slowly. He had no problem with that.

The League dispersed, each hero heading to their assigned mission. As Batman turned toward the exit, Superman fell in step beside him.

Bruce glanced at him. “You shouldn’t be on this mission yet. You just recovered.”

Clark smirked slightly. “You know me. I don’t like sitting still.”

Bruce sighed. “Annoying.”

Clark grinned. “You like it.”

Bruce didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled his cape over his shoulders, stepping into the transporter chamber. Clark followed.

—-——————

South Pacific, Uncharted Waters

The ocean was vast, endless, and unknowable. Even to those who called it home.

Aquaman, his golden armor gleaming under the dim light filtering through the depths, swam effortlessly through the abyss, trident in hand. Beside him, Wonder Woman moved with equal grace, her movements unhindered by the crushing weight of the sea. Her divine nature allowed her to navigate where no surface dweller could.

They were deep—miles below the ocean’s surface—where even light refused to reach.

And somewhere ahead, hidden beneath the seabed, was their target.

Aquaman gestured toward the rocky formations in the distance. “There,” he muttered through their Atlantean communication link. “That outcrop doesn’t match the natural seabed formations. It’s artificial.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “Then we’re in the right place.”

The two heroes advanced, their keen senses scanning the area. The facility was buried beneath layers of rock, its entrance barely visible through the natural camouflage. But Atlantean eyes weren’t so easily fooled.

Aquaman reached out, pressing his hand against a concealed hatch, feeling the metal underneath. “It’s reinforced.”

“Meaning someone went through a lot of trouble to hide it.” Wonder Woman frowned. “But if this was a primary base, there should be movement.”

Aquaman tightened his grip on his trident. She was right. There were no patrols. No movement. Nothing. The facility was abandoned. Or, more likely, cleared out.

He motioned toward Wonder Woman, and together they moved toward the entrance. Aquaman forced the hatch open, the metal groaning under his strength as the seal broke.

Inside, the facility was dark. The corridors were flooded but intact, glowing with the faint remnants of emergency lighting. Crates had been left behind, but the computers were wiped clean.

“They knew we were coming,” Aquaman muttered.

Wonder Woman touched the control panel near the entrance. “No logs. No personnel files.” She narrowed her eyes. “This wasn’t a hasty evacuation. It was methodical.”

Aquaman clenched his jaw. “Luthor’s people left nothing behind.”

Wonder Woman scanned the dark corridors, her sharp gaze catching movement in the shadows.

“Not nothing,” she murmured.

Aquaman turned just as a small group of armed guards crept through the flooded halls. Their weapons were modified, a hybrid of Atlantean and alien tech. They hadn’t been expecting company.

Wonder Woman’s lasso snapped forward before they could react, wrapping around the first soldier, yanking him forward with godly strength. He slammed into the ground with a sharp gasp as electricity crackled through the golden coils.

The others scattered, raising their weapons. Aquaman moved instantly, slamming his trident into the ground, sending a shockwave of water pressure blasting through the corridor. The guards were hurled backward, weapons flying from their hands.

Wonder Woman advanced, grabbing another by the collar and lifting him off the ground. “Who do you work for?”

The man struggled, eyes darting wildly. “I—I can’t—”

Aquaman twirled his trident, narrowing his eyes at the others. “You have two choices. Talk now, or talk after I drag you to Atlantis for questioning.”

One of the other guards coughed up water, eyes frantic. “We were just—just security! We were ordered to—”

“Ordered by who?” Wonder Woman’s grip tightened.

The guard’s breath hitched. “We don’t know! The orders came through encrypted channels. All we know is that we were assigned to protect shipments. We never saw who gave the commands.”

Wonder Woman exchanged a look with Aquaman. The guards didn’t have the answers they needed. 

Aquaman sighed. “Looks like we’re dragging them to Atlantis after all.”

He turned toward the empty facility. Luthor had moved everything.

Wonder Woman’s lasso tightened around the first guard as she pulled him closer.

“Looks like we’re not done with you yet.”

The guards shuddered.

—-——————

Cyber Operations Hub

Cyborg’s fingers moved at inhuman speed, his cybernetic interface processing thousands of data streams per second. Encrypted communications, hidden transactions, rerouted satellite pings, every digital ghost that Veridus Industries and Luthor’s unknown benefactors had left behind.

Flash, arms crossed, leaned over the console. “Alright, Vic. Tell me you’ve got something, because this is like watching a hacker movie in slow motion.”

Cyborg didn’t look up. “You wanna help? Stop talking.”

Flash huffed. “Rude.”

But he stayed quiet. For the moment.

The screen in front of them displayed a complex web of digital movements, tracking real-time financial transactions connected to Luthor’s shell companies. Veridus had wiped its records, but money left a trail.

“There,” Cyborg muttered, isolating a series of rapid-fire fund transfers moving through international accounts.

Flash squinted at the screen. “Uh… English, please?”

Cyborg sighed. “Luthor’s people aren’t handling the money anymore. Someone else took over.”

Flash frowned. “The big scary mystery boss?”

Cyborg nodded, zooming in on the flagged accounts. “They’ve restructured all financial movements. No more Veridus transactions. This is a whole new network.”

Flash raised an eyebrow. “And that means…?”

Cyborg leaned back. “It means Veridus was always disposable.”

Flash whistled. “Man, rich villains really love throwing money away.”

Cyborg’s eyes glowed as he processed more data. “Whoever’s pulling the strings, they knew we’d be tracking Luthor. The moment he failed, they wiped the entire system and shifted operations.”

Flash frowned. “So, what? We lost them?”

Cyborg grinned. “Not yet.”

He tapped a command, and new data streams appeared.

“I found a heartbeat,” Cyborg said. “One signal they didn’t scrub fast enough.”

Flash’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you found a live feed?”

Cyborg nodded. “A server that’s still relaying encrypted logistics—location data, inventory movements, and something bigger.”

Flash leaned forward. “Where?”

Cyborg highlighted the coordinates. A single red dot pulsed on the screen. 

—-——————

Gotham City  

Batman moved through the darkness like a shadow, his boots silent against the damp concrete. The warehouse had been cleared out in a hurry, but he wasn’t here for what had been taken. He was here for what had been left behind.

The cowl’s detective vision scanned the space, mapping hidden compartments, residual heat signatures, and structural anomalies. Luthor’s operation had used this place to move weapons into Gotham’s black market, but it had never been just a smuggling hub.

Batman knew there was more here.

A concealed floor hatch, barely noticeable beneath layers of grime. The faintest heat signature pulsed beneath it—active electronics.

A Veridus Industries blackbox.

He crouched, retrieving a compact decryptor from his belt. The hidden panel clicked open, revealing a high-security data core, still intact. Whoever abandoned the warehouse had missed it. Or they didn’t think anyone would find it.

They underestimated me.

Batman pulled the core from its housing, the small device still warm from being recently active. That meant its data encryption hadn’t fully wiped yet. If he got it back to the cave in time he could crack it.

Then, before he could stand, something shifted. Not in the room. Below it. Batman’s breath slowed, body tensing.

He had assumed the warehouse was empty. But the heat signature below the panel wasn’t just from the blackbox.

His gloved fingers found the edge of the hatch, carefully feeling for a release mechanism. It was heavy-duty, reinforced. A hidden sublevel. He pressed a silent command to his gauntlet, activating a drone scan from the Batmobile outside. The subsurface sonar revealed a tunnel beneath the warehouse.

His eyes narrowed. An escape route. If someone was still down there, they weren’t escaping tonight.

Batman forced the hatch open, dropping into the hidden corridor below. The air was cooler, the walls industrial steel instead of brick, this wasn’t part of the original warehouse. This was built later.

Footsteps echoed ahead. Fast. Panicked. Batman moved.

His cape snapped behind him as he surged forward, boots hitting the metal grates in absolute silence. He could hear the runner’s breath growing more frantic.

They reached a security door. The figure fumbled at a keypad, too slow. Batman was already there. He grabbed them from behind, slamming them against the wall.

The Veridus operative—a low-level data engineer, judging by his ID badge—let out a strangled gasp, eyes going wide with terror as he looked up at Batman.

“P-please,” he stammered. “I don’t, I was just—”

Batman’s voice was ice. “Where did they move the operation?”

The man shook his head wildly. “I don’t know!”

Batman pressed him harder against the wall. “Wrong answer.”

The operative choked out a terrified breath. “I—okay! They relocated! B-but we weren’t told where. Only that the next phase is—”

He froze. Batman’s eyes narrowed. “The next phase is what?”

The man swallowed hard. “—already started.”

A cold chill ran through Batman’s chest. He leaned in, voice dangerously low. “What are they building?”

The operative shook his head again. “I swear, I don’t know!”

Batman’s grip tightened. “Where’s Luthor?”

The man let out a sharp breath. “G-gone. He failed. They cut him off.”

Batman’s mind raced. That meant whoever was really in charge had moved on.

The operative’s breath was ragged. “Y-you don’t get it. Veridus was just a shell. It was never about Gotham. This thing is global.”

He released the operative, letting him slump to the floor. “If you lied to me,” Batman said flatly, “I’ll find you again.”

The man nodded frantically. Batman pressed a command on his gauntlet, activating a remote Bat-drone from the Gotham PD database. Within minutes, GCPD sirens wailed in the distance.

Batman was already gone.

The Batmobile’s engine roared through the Gotham tunnels, the secured Veridus data core locked in a containment case in the passenger seat. Batman activated the League’s secure channel. “Batman to League.”

Wonder Woman’s voice came through immediately. “We’re here.”

“I found something.” He tapped the data core. “Luthor’s real backers, they’re moving forward without him.”

Superman’s voice followed. “Then who are we dealing with?”

Batman’s gaze flickered toward the encrypted drive. “I’m about to find out.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

—-——————

Eastern Europe, Remote Mountain Facility

The wind howled through the desolate mountain range, whipping ice and snow across the jagged cliffs. The facility had been buried within the rock itself, almost indistinguishable from the landscape, a hidden fortress carved into the frozen earth.

Superman hovered in the air just above the structure, his breath steady despite the freezing temperatures. His eyes glowed faintly as he used his enhanced vision to scan the facility’s depths.

Green Lantern floated beside him, his ring pulsing with energy. “I don’t like this,” John muttered. “It’s too quiet.”

Superman nodded, his x-ray vision sweeping through the reinforced walls. John’s ring flashed, sending out a scan. The readings came back instantly.

What he saw made his stomach drop. “Oh, hell no,” GL muttered.

Beneath the mountain, deep in the earth, sat an enormous machine.

It stretched for miles, its core pulsating with unfamiliar energy. Rows of power generators lined the underground chamber, feeding directly into the device. The machinery was unlike anything either of them had seen before.

GL turned to Superman. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

John’s ring flickered again, analyzing the structure’s energy composition. The readings came back unstable, an erratic power source that shouldn’t exist.

“It’s not finished. But it’s close.”

Superman’s fists clenched. “Then we’re out of time.”

The two heroes dropped down toward the facility entrance, their landing silent but deliberate. Superman’s eyes narrowed. “We call the League.”

John was already opening the comms. “Green Lantern to League.”

A pause. Then Wonder Woman’s voice came through, steady and commanding. “Report.”

Superman took the communicator. “We found something.”

A beat of silence. Then Batman’s voice cut in, sharp and precise. “What kind of something?”

Superman’s gaze flickered toward the massive hidden device pulsing beneath them. “Something bad.”

GL gritted his teeth. “We need everyone here. Now.”

“Understood. We’re on our way.”

Chapter Text

The snowstorm had worsened, thick white flurries sweeping across the icy cliffs as the Justice League assembled at the base of the mountain. Their silhouettes stood firm against the storm, the urgency in the air palpable.

Superman and Green Lantern were waiting as the others descended—Wonder Woman and Aquaman from the South Pacific, Flash and Cyborg from the base, and Batman emerging from the shadows like a specter.

The team stood in a loose circle, their capes and armor dusted with frost, their expressions grim. Superman broke the silence.

“This is it,” he said. “We found the facility.”

GL crossed his arms. “And it’s huge. There’s a machine buried deep beneath this mountain, something unlike anything we’ve seen before. It’s powered by a hybrid of alien and human tech.”

Cyborg’s eyes glowed as he pulled up a holographic projection from his systems, displaying the digital map he and Flash had pieced together. “We tracked every single transaction connected to Luthor’s projects. Once he failed, all resources were redirected here. This isn’t just a base.” He expanded the display. “It’s the final phase.”

Aquaman grunted. “Final phase of what?”

Batman, who had been silent up until now, spoke. “Of the return.”

Everyone turned toward him. His cowl was dusted with snow, his expression was unreadable.

Superman frowned. “What do you mean?”

Batman tapped a control on his gauntlet, uploading the decrypted data from the Veridus warehouse. A new set of blueprints, ancient texts, and financial movements appeared above Cyborg’s projection.

“The League of Assassins wasn’t just working with Luthor,” Batman said. “They were covering for someone else. Someone who has been orchestrating this from the very beginning.”

He turned his gaze to Wonder Woman. “You’re familiar with them.”

Diana’s brow furrowed. Batman zoomed in on the encrypted name buried in the files. The word glowed red against the dark screen.

Vandal Savage.

A cold silence settled over the League. Wonder Woman’s expression darkened, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. “Savage…”

Flash looked between them. “Okay, someone wanna fill in the non-immortal members?”

Superman’s face hardened. “Vandal Savage is one of the most dangerous beings on Earth.”

“He’s more than that,” Wonder Woman muttered. “He is a warlord from the dawn of humanity. An immortal tyrant who has shaped civilizations for thousands of years, only to destroy them when they no longer suited his needs.”

Aquaman’s jaw tightened. “And now he’s working with Luthor?”

Batman shook his head. “Luthor was a pawn. Savage used him to develop the technology he needed, then discarded him when he failed. The Vrang weaponry, the modified Kryptonian tech, the Veridus industries financial backing,  it all leads back to Savage.”

Cyborg zoomed in on the hologram. “I decrypted some of the research logs from the Veridus core.” His expression darkened. “Savage is rebuilding something.”

Superman clenched his fists. “The machine we saw underground.”

Cyborg nodded. “It’s not just a power source. It’s a terraformer.”

The realization settled over the team like a hammer blow.

“A terraformer?” GL asked. “As in, changing the entire environment?”

“Yes,” Cyborg confirmed. “However, Savage isn’t just planning to reshape a city or a country.” His voice grew heavier. “He’s planning to reshape the entire planet.”

The wind howled around them.

Flash blew out a breath. “Okay, yeah, that’s bad. That’s really bad.”

Superman turned to Batman. “What’s the endgame?”

Batman’s voice was like steel. “Savage has always believed himself to be humanity’s rightful ruler. Every war, every empire he has raised or destroyed, it’s all been leading to this.” He pointed at the hologram.

“This machine? It’s a genetic filter. It won’t just terraform the Earth.” His gaze flicked toward Wonder Woman and Aquaman.

“It will erase everyone who doesn’t fit Savage’s vision of the future.”

Diana’s eyes flashed with fury. “That monster.”

Superman’s breath came slow and controlled, but inside, he was seething. “This stops tonight,” he said.

Batman nodded. “We don’t have much time. The machine is almost complete. If we don’t act now, it will activate and once it does, we may not be able to shut it down.”

Flash cracked his knuckles. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Batman pulled up a strategic map of the facility. “The base has three main access points. We’ll need to split up.”

He gestured at Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Cyborg. “You three take the control center and shut down their defense systems. If Savage has a failsafe, we need to deactivate it first.”

He turned to Flash and Green Lantern. “You two take the lower levels. Find out how far along the machine is, and if it’s already powered up, disrupt the energy flow.”

Finally, he looked at Superman. “You and I are going to find Savage.”

Superman exhaled. “Let’s move.”

—-——————

The Justice League split into three teams, each taking a different path into the heart of Savage’s hidden stronghold. The storm raged outside, but inside the facility, the air was still, filled with an eerie hum from the massive terraforming machine buried beneath the rock.

Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Cyborg, The Control Center

The steel corridors of the upper facility were eerily empty. The usual hum of security systems and armed guards was absent, replaced by a silence that felt deliberate.

“I don’t like this,” Aquaman muttered, gripping his trident as they advanced.

Cyborg’s optical scanners swept ahead, analyzing the structure. “Their defenses should have tripped by now. This place is wired, motion sensors, automated turrets, heat signatures.”

Diana unsheathed her sword, her grip steady. “It’s a trap.”

Aquaman smirked. “Good. I like traps.”

They reached the main control room, a massive circular hub lined with computer terminals and glowing holographic projections of Earth’s geography. The terraformer’s impact zones.

Cyborg immediately moved to the main console, his fingers integrating with the system. “I’ll shut down their internal security.”

The moment he touched it, red warning lights flashed. A voice echoed through the chamber. “Security breach detected.”

Cyborg’s eyes widened. “Son of a—”

Panels on the walls slid open, revealing defense turrets and humanoid automated sentries, their bodies reinforced with alien alloy.

Diana whipped her lasso forward, yanking a turret out of its housing and hurling it into another. Sparks erupted as the machines came to life.

Aquaman charged forward, twirling his trident and smashing through the first wave of sentries, their bodies shattering like glass beneath the enchanted metal. “Hurry it up, Cyborg!”

“I’m working on it!” Cyborg gritted his teeth, hacking through the defensive firewall. “This system is more advanced than Luthor’s.”

Diana sliced through another wave of sentries, her sword glowing. “We’ll hold them off. Do what you must!”

Cyborg’s systems glowed, pushing deeper into the code. He had to shut this down before it was too late.

—-——————

Flash and Green Lantern, The Lower Levels

Flash and GL raced through the underground corridors, their footsteps echoing as they reached the central reactor chamber.

Green Lantern’s ring pulsed, scanning the massive fusion core feeding energy into the terraformer.

Flash skidded to a stop. “Okay, wow. That’s a lot of power.”

John’s ring highlighted the reactor’s structure. “It’s a controlled mix of alien fusion and Earth-based bio-energy. They’re blending organic matter into the energy output.”

Flash made a face. “So… what, the world-killer machine is part Frankenstein?”

John’s jaw tightened. “It’s worse. It’s designed to evolve as it runs.” He turned to Flash. “We need to disrupt it.”

Flash grinned. “That, I can do.”

He took off, becoming a red blur as he circled the reactor at super-speed, generating a high-frequency vibration. The walls of the structure shook, disrupting the stabilizers.

The moment he reached critical velocity, defensive drones emerged from the reactor walls.

Green Lantern formed a massive energy shield, blocking the incoming plasma rounds. “Flash, keep going, I’ll cover you!”

Flash pushed faster, his speed reaching dimensional-breaking levels as he phased through the reactor’s energy casing, disrupting its integrity.

“Power destabilizing,” the automated system warned.

John gritted his teeth, reinforcing the shield. “Just a little more…”

If they could destabilize the reactor, the entire machine might become vulnerable.

—-——————

Superman and Batman, Confronting Savage

Deep inside the facility, through the darkest tunnels, Superman and Batman moved with purpose.

The chamber ahead was vast, a cathedral of steel and stone, illuminated by the pulsing glow of the machine’s core far below. Standing at the edge of the platform, watching the chaos unfold on his screens, was Vandal Savage.

He turned as they approached, smirking. “Ah,” Savage mused, his voice smooth as ever. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

Superman stepped forward, his eyes glowing red-hot. “It’s over, Savage.”

Batman threw a batarang, aiming for the nearest control panel, but before it could strike, the air shimmered.

A force field flickered to life, absorbing the impact.

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “He was expecting us.”

Savage chuckled. “Of course I was.”

Superman’s fists tightened. “Your machine won’t work.”

Savage’s eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. “You misunderstand, Kryptonian. It already does.”

Batman scanned the core with his cowl’s systems. What he saw made his blood run cold. The terraformer’s activation sequence had already begun. They were too late.

Superman stepped forward. “We’ll destroy it.”

Savage smiled. “By all means… try.”

From the shadows behind him, reinforcements emerged. Genetically modified warriors—stronger, faster, enhanced beyond human limitations.

Savage gestured at them lazily. “They’ll keep you entertained while I finish shaping the world.”

Superman launched forward as the warriors charged. Batman was already moving, analyzing their weaknesses.

Superman’s fists cracked against superhuman bone with the force of an earthquake.

One of the warriors—a towering brute with glowing veins of Vrang bio-energy—swung a massive fist. Superman blocked, but the impact rattled his bones.

They were strong. Stronger than Luthor’s usual lackeys. But Superman had fought gods.

He grabbed the warrior’s arm and launched him through a steel wall, sending debris crashing into the core chamber.

Batman moved like a ghost in the darkness, dodging a wild swing from one of the genetically modified enforcers. Before the warrior could react, Batman struck three precise nerve clusters, disabling him in an instant. More were coming.

Savage stood at the edge of the chamber, watching calmly. He wasn’t running. He was waiting.

“He’s stalling,” Batman muttered into the comms.

Superman dodged another strike, eyes burning red-hot. Savage smiled.

“You still think this is about a fight?” he mused. “You’re playing checkers while I’m finishing a game of chess I started fifty thousand years ago.”

Superman’s glare hardened. “Whatever you think you’ve built, it won’t survive this.”

Savage sighed. “You always reduce things to destruction, Superman. But I don’t need to survive this.” He gestured toward the terraformer’s control panel. “I already won.”

Batman’s eyes flicked to the console. The numbers were counting down. They had less than five minutes.

—-——————

Diana drove her blade through the last sentry, sparks flying as the automaton collapsed. Across the chamber, Aquaman twirled his trident, sending an electric current through the room, frying the remaining turrets.

Cyborg’s systems hummed with power, his arm interfacing directly with the control panel. “Okay, I’ve got partial access to their defense grid.”

Diana wiped blood from her brow. “Disable everything.”

Cyborg’s fingers worked rapidly over the keys. “Trying!”

Aquaman swung his trident over his shoulder. “We don’t have more time.”

Cyborg cursed under his breath.

—-——————

Flash ran, his body a crimson blur, dodging fire from the automated turrets lining the reactor chamber.

GL’s ring pulsed, constructing an energy hammer that crushed an incoming drone. “We can’t just run in circles, we have to shut this thing down.”

Barry dodged another explosion. “You think I don’t know that? I’m fast, not stupid.”

John scanned the reactor core, his face grim. “We can’t destroy it. The failsafe protocols will reroute the power.”

Flash skidded to a stop. “Then what?”

John’s eyes glowed with understanding. “We overload it.”

Flash grinned. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

John extended his ring’s power field. “Start running. Get me a charge to feed into the core.”

Flash took off. His lightning crackled as he ran faster and faster, the charge building around him, turning him into a living conduit. The reactor’s alarms screamed.

They were seconds away from overloading the entire machine.

—-——————

Superman blasted forward, fists glowing with solar fury, slamming into the nearest warrior. The ground shook with the impact.

Batman rolled into position behind him, planting detonation charges along the machine’s stabilizers.

Savage watched without fear. “Even if you destroy this place,” he mused, “you can’t stop what’s coming.”

Superman’s eyes burned. “Watch me.”

Then he punched Savage square in the jaw. Savage flew backward, crashing against the console. But when he rose, he was smiling.

Superman frowned. “What?”

Savage wiped blood from his mouth. The terraformer roared to life.

The mountain shook violently, a pulse of energy radiating from deep below, disrupting the magnetic field of the entire planet.

Cyborg’s voice crackled over the comms. “Guys—IT’S STARTING.”

Flash’s voice followed: “Almost got the reactor unstable!”

Wonder Woman: “We need another minute!”

Superman’s heart pounded.

Batman finished arming the explosives. “Superman—”

Superman didn’t hesitate. He flew to the terraformer’s power core, planting both hands against its surface. The energy burned through him, his skin glowing from the sheer radiation output, but he held on.

He gritted his teeth, pulling the energy outward, forcing his body to absorb as much of it as he could.

“Flash,” Batman barked. “NOW.”

Flash let go of the charge.

The reactor overloaded, energy imploding on itself, sending a catastrophic pulse through the facility.

Cyborg slammed the control override. The machine buckled.

BAM .

A massive explosion erupted from the core, sending a shockwave through the mountain, collapsing the underground structure.

Batman barely activated his grapple in time, swinging away as flames erupted beneath him. Superman took the brunt of the blast, his body absorbing the worst of the energy before he was hurled into the air, crashing through layers of rock.

The mountain crumbled. The League barely made it out before the entire facility collapsed into a molten wreck. Savage’s forces were gone. The terraformer was destroyed.

Superman, wounded but alive, landed hard in the snow. His chest heaved. He could still feel the raw power of the machine pulsing through him, even though it was gone.

He exhaled sharply. It was over.

Batman landed beside him. “You good?”

Superman smiled weakly. “Never better.”

The League regrouped, watching as the last remnants of the facility burned.

Flash exhaled. “So. That sucked.”

Green Lantern crossed his arms. “Yeah. And we still don’t know where Savage went.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll be back, but not today.”

Superman wiped ash from his suit, looking toward the wreckage. The war was over. For now.

Chapter Text

Clark sighed as he leaned against his kitchen counter, staring down at his phone.

For the fifth time that day, he scrolled through his recent calls.

Five missed calls. Two unanswered texts. All to one person.

Bruce Wayne.

Clark ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. He told himself he wasn’t worried. Bruce was like this. He withdrew. He vanished. That was his nature.

But after everything, after they had fought side by side, risked their lives to stop Savage’s plan, after Bruce had dragged him back to the Batcave and stayed by his side until he recovered, Clark had thought…

But then the radio silence started. Clark had tried to be patient.

The first few days after the mission, he let it go. He figured Bruce needed time, maybe to recover, maybe to process, maybe just to pretend he didn’t have people who actually cared about him.

Then a week passed. Then two. Now, Clark was done waiting.

He hit redial and lifted the phone to his ear, listening as it rang.

Once. Twice. Three times.

“The number you have dialed is unavailable—” Clark hung up before the automated message could finish.

He set the phone down, drumming his fingers against the counter. Fine. If Bruce wanted to ignore him, that was his choice, but Clark wasn’t just going to let it go.

Bruce might be used to pushing people away—Clark wasn’t the type to be pushed.

If Batman wasn’t going to answer? Then maybe it was time for Superman to pay a visit.

—-——————

Bruce sat alone in the darkened study, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace and the faint glow of the Batcomputer monitor across the room. A half-empty glass of whiskey rested in his hand, untouched for the last hour.

His phone sat on the table beside him, screen dark. Clark had called again. Bruce hadn’t answered. He never did.

He told himself it was necessary. That after everything, after Savage, after almost losing everything, he needed time to reset. To detach.

That’s what he did. That’s what he had always done.

Clark had started calling a few days after the mission. Checking in. First it was about League business, then about him. The way he phrased it was subtle, but Bruce knew better.

You doing alright, Bruce?

Haven’t seen you in a bit.

Call me when you get this.

He hadn’t. Because if he did, he knew exactly how that conversation would go. Clark would ask why he was avoiding him. He’d ask what was wrong. Bruce would have to come up with a lie.

Because the truth? The truth was he didn’t know how to deal with Clark.

The way Clark looked at him, the way he had trusted him, relied on him—not just as Batman, not just as a teammate, but as Bruce.

The way Clark had almost died and Bruce had barely left his side, watching over him in the Batcave like some kind of fool who cared too much.

Bruce exhaled, rubbing his temple. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Clark had a way of getting past every wall Bruce built, without even trying. And that terrified him more than any war, any villain, any threat he had ever faced. He knew what would happen if he let Clark in.

Bruce Wayne did not get happy endings. A knock at the study door pulled him from his thoughts.

Alfred stepped inside, his usual poised expression not quite hiding the sharp knowing in his eyes. “You should answer him, sir.”

Bruce didn’t move. “No.”

Alfred sighed. “How very predictable of you.”

Bruce swirled the untouched whiskey in his glass. “Clark will be fine.”

Alfred arched a brow. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That avoiding him is for his sake?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “I’m not avoiding him.”

Alfred folded his arms. “Ah. So you’re simply declining every call out of coincidence?”

Bruce didn’t respond.

Alfred took a slow step forward, gaze steady. “You’re making a mistake.”

Bruce looked up. “I make a lot of those.”

“Yes,” Alfred said. “And this is one you will regret.”

Bruce exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “Clark doesn’t need me.”

Alfred’s expression softened. “Maybe not.” He paused. “But he wants you.”

Bruce said nothing. Alfred studied him for a long moment, then simply shook his head. “Very well, sir. If you insist on being miserable, far be it from me to stop you.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving Bruce alone once more. Bruce let his gaze drift back to the phone. Clark’s name was still in his call history. Bruce reached for the glass of whiskey.

—-——————

Clark hovered just outside Wayne Manor’s massive gates, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.

He had tried calling. He had tried waiting. He had tried giving Bruce space. Enough was enough.

He was done letting Bruce push him away.

The iron gates loomed ahead, locked as always. The mansion beyond was dark, save for a few dim lights flickering behind the windows.

Clark landed softly on the wet pavement. The Gotham air was thick, the scent of damp stone filling his senses. He pressed the intercom button. A pause. Then a familiar gravelly voice filtered through the speaker.

“Go home, Clark.”

Clark exhaled through his nose. “Not happening.”

The intercom cut off. Clark rolled his eyes. Fine. If Bruce thought a locked gate was going to keep him out, he had forgotten who he was dealing with.

He could just fly in. Break a window. Rip the doors off their hinges. No. Clark had a better idea.

Instead of using force, he casually strolled toward the side gardens, where he found the door to a rarely used servants’ entrance. And, sure enough, the back door was unlocked.

Clark smiled. Alfred. The old man was on his side.

He stepped inside, moving through the quiet halls of Wayne Manor. The air smelled of aged wood and old books, the warmth of the fireplace burning faintly from down the hall.

Clark didn’t need super-hearing to know exactly where Bruce was. He found him in the study, seated in that ridiculous leather chair, staring at the unlit fireplace like he was brooding over the meaning of life.

Clark stopped in the doorway. “You know, you’re getting predictable.”

Bruce didn’t turn. “And you’re getting annoying.”

Clark stepped forward. “Then why’d you leave the door open?”

Bruce sighed. “I didn’t.”

Clark smirked. “Alfred did.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “Traitor.”

Clark folded his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe he’s just tired of watching you shut people out.”

Bruce finally turned, his expression cold. “What do you want, Clark?”

Clark stared at him, really stared, searching for the answer beneath the mask of indifference.

“I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me,” Clark said. “And don’t say you haven’t, because we both know that’s a lie.”

Bruce looked away, fingers curling against the armrest. “I’ve been busy.”

Clark scoffed. “Right. Too busy to answer one phone call? Even when we just saved the damn world together?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Clark stepped closer. “Talk to me, Bruce.”

Bruce’s hands clenched. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Clark’s eyes flashed. “ Bullshit .”

Bruce stood suddenly, stepping toward him, his movements controlled, but Clark could see the cracks. “You’re wasting your time,” Bruce said, voice low, sharp, dangerous. “I don’t need you checking in on me like I’m one of your strays.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a stray, Bruce.” His voice softened. “You’re my friend.”

Bruce let out a hollow laugh. “Friendship? You think that’s what this is?”

Clark’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Bruce shook his head, turning away. “I don’t need this.”

Clark stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Yeah? Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”

Bruce glared. “Move.”

Clark didn’t budge. “No.”

Bruce’s fists clenched at his sides. “Clark—”

“Say it,” Clark demanded. “Say whatever it is you’re trying so hard not to say.”

Bruce’s chest rose and fell sharply. His heartbeat—normally steady as stone—was erratic.

“I don’t care.”

Clark stilled.

Bruce’s voice was sharp, cutting. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care about whatever you think we have. So stop acting like this matters.”

Silence. The words hung in the air like a blade.

Clark exhaled slowly. And then he laughed. Bruce’s expression flickered.

Clark shook his head, stepping even closer. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Bruce’s glare hardened. “Clark—”

Clark’s voice lowered. “You care. You care so much that it scares the hell out of you.”

Bruce’s hands curled into fists, but he didn’t move.

Clark’s tone softened, but it didn’t waver. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them stay.” He tilted his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bruce’s breath caught for half a second. Clark saw it.

“You care,” Clark murmured, voice steady. “So just admit it.”

Bruce didn’t speak. He didn’t deny it.

Clark took a slow step back, giving him space. “I’ll be here,” he said quietly. “Whenever you decide you’re ready.”

Bruce didn’t stop him as he turned toward the door.

Just before Clark left, Bruce’s voice, quiet, raw, stopped him. “…I know.”

Clark turned back. Bruce wasn’t looking at him, but his shoulders had relaxed, the weight on him just a little lighter. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Clark smiled softly. “Good.”

He turned toward the door, giving Bruce space, but something in the air shifted. A small, almost imperceptible hitch in Bruce’s breath. Clark’s brow furrowed. His senses tuned in immediately.

Bruce’s heartbeat was slower than it should have been when it returned to resting. His breathing was just slightly off. His posture was rigid, but not in his usual way. The way Bruce was holding himself, just barely, like his ribs were too tight. The faint, dried bloodstain on the side of his dark sweater, mostly hidden beneath the fabric. The way his left side barely moved when he breathed.

Clark’s stomach tightened. “You’re hurt.”

Bruce didn’t react at first. Then he exhaled. “It’s nothing.”

Clark turned fully, stepping closer. “Nothing? Bruce, you can barely breathe.”

Bruce tensed as Clark’s gaze swept over him, scanning him the way only Superman could.

Clark’s voice dropped. “How bad is it?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Clark—”

Clark’s expression hardened. “Sit down.”

Bruce stared at him, unmoving.

Clark sighed. “I mean it. Sit. Down.”

For once, Bruce didn’t argue. With slow, deliberate movements, he lowered himself back into his chair. Even that small action made him inhale sharply.

Clark frowned. “What happened?”

Bruce waved a hand dismissively. “Last patrol. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed. He could already see it—Bruce’s ribs weren’t expanding properly. The faint bruising spreading along his side, hidden beneath the sweater.

Clark crouched in front of him, gentle but firm. “Take off the sweater.”

Bruce scoffed. “Not happening.”

Clark’s expression didn’t change. “Bruce.”

Silence stretched. Then, grudgingly, Bruce pulled the sweater up slowly, clearly fighting the pain.

Clark inhaled sharply. Dark purple bruising spread across Bruce’s left side, wrapping around his ribs. The skin was angry and swollen, a wound near his hip half-stitched but bleeding again.

Clark gritted his teeth. “You shouldn’t even be moving. How did you act so normal?”

Bruce shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

Clark glared. “That’s not the point.”

Bruce leaned back slightly, clearly exhausted, but his voice stayed even. “I’ll be fine.”

Clark huffed. “Yeah. Because I’m going to fix this.”

Bruce gave him a look. “You’re not my medic.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.”

Before Bruce could argue, Clark stood and strode toward the small first-aid cabinet tucked near the fireplace. He pulled out medical supplies, antiseptic, fresh gauze, and painkillers.

He returned, kneeling in front of Bruce again, uncapping the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”

Bruce watched him carefully, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, quietly, he said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Clark looked up, gaze steady. “Yes, I do.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. Clark worked carefully, his fingers gentle but efficient as he cleaned the wound, applied fresh bandages, and checked for anything more serious. Bruce hissed when Clark touched a particularly deep bruise.

Clark’s jaw tightened. “Your ribs are fractured.”

Bruce exhaled slowly. “Figured.”

Clark finished wrapping his side, securing the bandages with practiced ease. He had done this before for people he cared about. He just hadn’t expected Bruce to ever let him.

Clark sat back, his hands resting on his knees. “You need rest.”

Bruce let out a dry laugh. “I don’t rest.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Then start.”

Bruce’s gaze flickered to him. “That an order?”

Clark held his stare. “That’s a request.”

Bruce watched him for a long moment. “Fine.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Did you just agree to something?”

Bruce sighed. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Clark smirked. “Too late.”

A brief silence settled between them. The rain continued to drum softly against the windows, the fire casting a warm glow over the room.

Clark finally spoke. “You didn’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Bruce’s gaze drifted. “I always have.”

Clark’s voice softened. “You don’t anymore.”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. But his shoulders—normally so tense, so locked in—relaxed just slightly.

Clark saw it, the way the weight pressing down on Bruce eased, if only for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

Clark stood, reaching down. “Come on.”

Bruce looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

Clark sighed. “Getting you to bed before you collapse in this chair.”

Bruce scowled. “I’m fine.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “You have fractured ribs, and I just spent the last twenty minutes patching you up. I’m not letting you fall asleep in a chair like some stubborn old man.”

Bruce scoffed but didn’t protest, which was as close to a win as Clark was going to get.

Clark bent down, careful but firm, and hooked an arm under Bruce’s before pulling him up. Bruce tensed at first, but he let Clark take his weight, shifting against him just enough to allow himself to be led.

Clark guided him through the quiet halls of Wayne Manor, the firelight flickering along the walls. The rain outside had softened into a steady drizzle, casting rhythmic shadows across the windows.

When they reached Bruce’s bedroom, Clark pushed open the heavy wooden door. The room was minimalist, darker than expected, save for the dim bedside lamp casting a faint glow.

Bruce sighed as Clark helped him sit down on the edge of the bed.

Clark leaned down, carefully pulling back the blankets. “Lie down.”

Bruce shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Clark smirked. “A little.”

Bruce sighed but slowly eased himself back, wincing slightly as his body adjusted to the mattress. Clark lifted the covers, carefully tucking them around Bruce’s frame. It was a quiet, simple gesture.

Something so normal. Something Bruce probably hadn’t let anyone do for him in a very, very long time.

Clark pulled the blanket up to Bruce’s chest before stepping back. “Get some sleep.”

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step a hand caught his wrist. Clark froze.

Bruce’s grip was light but deliberate. His voice, normally so controlled, so detached, was soft when he spoke. “…Stay.”

Clark turned back, surprised by how vulnerable it sounded.

Bruce wasn’t looking at him, staring somewhere at the ceiling instead, his fingers still loosely curled around Clark’s wrist.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Bruce released his wrist and shifted slightly, adjusting against the pillow. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath evening out.

Clark sat carefully on the edge of the bed, watching as the exhaustion finally won. Clark exhaled softly. And then, on an impulse he didn’t question, he leaned forward, brushing the faintest kiss against Bruce’s forehead.

Bruce didn’t wake, but his breath hitched, just slightly. Clark smiled.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Then he settled in, watching over him as the storm slowly faded away.

—-——————

Bruce woke up warm. That was the first thing his tired mind registered.

The second? He wasn’t alone. For a moment, he stayed still, his senses catching up, pulling him from the haze of sleep. His ribs ached less, his body felt surprisingly relaxed, and there was a solid warm weight against his side.

Bruce blinked his eyes open. Clark. Clark was still here.

They had fallen asleep at some point in the night, and now Clark was sprawled across half the bed, arms loosely draped over Bruce, his breathing slow and steady. Bruce barely processed the reality of it.

Clark wasn’t crushing him, but his presence was unmistakable—the warmth of him, the way his heartbeat was so steady, so constant. Bruce had never woken up like this before. Not with someone like him.

And the worst part? He didn’t hate it.

Bruce shifted slightly, just enough to move Clark’s arm off his chest, but the moment he did, Clark stirred.

A quiet, sleepy mumble left his lips before his arms instinctively pulled Bruce closer again. Bruce froze.

Clark’s face was pressed into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his torso like they’d done this a hundred times before. Bruce didn’t know what to do.

Clark let out a deep, slow sigh, his voice muffled against Bruce’s skin. “Mmm… morning.”

Bruce exhaled. “Clark.”

Clark made a small, content noise, barely opening his eyes. “Huh?”

“You’re still here.”

Clark cracked one eye open, his lips twitching into a smile. “You asked me to stay.”

Bruce huffed. “I didn’t ask you to cuddle me.”

Clark stretched lazily but didn’t move away. “Well, maybe you needed it.”

Bruce glared. “I don’t need—”

Clark grinned, finally pulling back and sitting up. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you your personal space back.”

Bruce took a slow breath, ignoring the way his body immediately missed the warmth. Clark rubbed a hand over his face, still clearly waking up.

Then, with a knowing glint in his eye, he glanced at Bruce. “So… how’s the rib?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable in the morning.”

Clark grinned. “You say that like I’m not insufferable all the time.”

Bruce swung his legs off the bed. “You’re worse now.”

Clark chuckled.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, already regretting last night’s decision to let Clark stay. Not because it was bad. Because it was too easy.

Clark stood, stretching out his back before offering a hand. “Come on. Breakfast.”

Bruce stared at him.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re making breakfast?”

Clark scoffed. “I saved the world. I think I can handle eggs and toast.”

Bruce didn’t move.

Clark sighed dramatically. “Fine. You make breakfast. I’ll just sit there looking handsome and charming.”

Bruce exhaled. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re still smiling, though.”

Bruce hadn’t noticed that. Which only made him scowl.

Clark laughed, already heading toward the kitchen. “Come on, Bats. Let’s get some food in you before you start brooding again.”

Bruce shook his head but followed anyway. Because if Clark was here, if he was still showing up, still staying despite everything—

Then maybe, Bruce would let him.

By the time Clark and Bruce made it downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee, eggs, and toast filled the air. Clark breathed it in, his stomach immediately growling.

Bruce shot him a look. “Did you not eat yesterday?”

Clark grinned. “I was too busy worrying about a certain brooding billionaire.”

Bruce sighed. “Regret letting you stay already.”

Clark chuckled, but before he could reply, a voice interrupted.

“Ah, good morning, gentlemen.”

Clark turned to see Alfred at the stove, as poised and unbothered as ever, dressed in his usual crisp attire despite the early hour. He was already placing plates of food on the table, along with a fresh pot of coffee.

Clark smiled. “Morning, Alfred.”

Bruce, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. “You made breakfast.”

Alfred gave him a pointed look as he set down a plate in front of Clark. “Of course I did, Master Bruce. Someone in this house must ensure you’re properly fed.”

Bruce folded his arms. “I eat.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “You survive. That is not the same thing.”

Clark snorted. Bruce shot him a murderous glare.

Clark ignored it and took a seat, already reaching for the toast. “Alfred, you’re a saint.”

Alfred smirked. “A fact I have long been aware of, Mister Kent.”

Bruce sat down across from Clark, grumbling as he reached for his coffee. “You two are not allowed to work together.”

Alfred hummed as he poured Clark a cup as well. “Yes, well, I do believe Mister Kent brings out certain qualities in you, sir.”

Bruce froze mid-sip.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Certain qualities?”

Alfred gave them both a pointed look, hands clasped behind his back. “A rather distinct improvement in mood. Less brooding. More smiling.”

Bruce glared. “I don’t smile.”

Alfred tilted his head. “Perhaps not at present. I am certain Mister Kent will correct that soon enough.”

Clark smirked over his coffee cup. “I like this plan.”

Bruce set his coffee down with a little too much force. “Alfred.”

Alfred gave a gracious nod. “Yes, sir?”

Bruce stared at him. “Leave.”

Alfred, entirely unfazed, collected his own coffee cup before heading toward the doorway, but not before pausing beside Clark’s chair and giving him a subtle pat on the shoulder.

Clark’s smile grew.

Alfred nodded approvingly. “Do eat well, Mister Kent. And do not allow Master Bruce to intimidate you—his bark is far worse than his bite.”

Clark grinned. “Oh, I know.”

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face. “I should have locked you out last night.”

Alfred chuckled to himself as he left the room. Clark took a slow sip of his coffee, looking at Bruce over the rim. “So.”

Bruce sighed. “Don’t.”

Clark smirked. “You smile around me, huh?”

Bruce gave him a flat look. “I am debating throwing you out a window.”

Clark laughed. “Go ahead. I’ll just fly back in.”

Bruce shook his head, but Clark saw it. The small, almost imperceptible twitch of amusement. Clark smiled at him, it was blinding.

Chapter Text

The large round table was filled with the most powerful heroes on Earth, but they weren’t gathered to fight a threat. They were gathered to prepare for the next one.

Superman sat near the center, arms crossed as he listened to Batman outline the proposal on the massive holographic display. The blueprint was ambitious, a fully operational orbital headquarters for the League, capable of monitoring global and intergalactic threats before they reached Earth: The Watchtower.

Batman’s voice was even as he spoke. “Vandal Savage proved something we already knew, we’re too reactive. We wait for the threat to arrive instead of stopping it before it begins.”

Wonder Woman nodded. “Agreed. If we had discovered his plans earlier, we could have ended it before it escalated.”

Green Lantern tilted his head, studying the schematics. “So we’re talking about a space station? How are we gonna power it?”

Cyborg leaned forward, his cybernetic eye glowing as he analyzed the plans. “I can integrate Mother Box technology to regulate the station’s systems. We’ll have near-infinite processing power and surveillance capabilities.”

Flash whistled. “Great, we’re building our own Death Star. Minus the whole planet-destroying thing, obviously.”

Aquaman folded his arms. “What about security? If someone like Luthor, or worse, tries to take control of it, how do we stop that?”

Batman adjusted the display, pulling up additional schematics. “The station will have multiple fail-safes, including an AI firewall designed by Cyborg and myself. Physical access points will be limited, and we’ll be the only ones with direct operational control.”

Superman nodded. “It’s a risk, but a calculated one. The bigger risk is waiting until the next world-ending event without preparation.”

Green Lantern sighed. “I can probably get the Guardians to sign off on some off-world materials for the structure. If we’re putting this thing in orbit, we need something stronger than titanium.”

Cyborg grinned. “Oh, I got that covered. We’ll need a blend of Nth metal and Promethium. I can synthesize it once we get the raw materials.”

Batman switched the display again. “The location will be in geosynchronous orbit, allowing for full planetary surveillance without detection.”

Wonder Woman glanced around the table. “So, are we in agreement?”

The League members exchanged looks. Then, one by one, they nodded.

 —-——————

The silence of space was broken by the hum of energy fields and the rhythmic sounds of construction. The Justice League, scattered across different sectors of the massive orbital structure, worked tirelessly to bring their vision to life.

It had taken weeks of preparation—securing materials, designing architecture, coding security measures—but now, the Watchtower was finally taking shape.

Superman floated in the void, holding a massive slab of reinforced alloy, his strength making the impossibly heavy structure look weightless. “This is the last outer panel for the communications array.”

Green Lantern, hovering nearby, sculpted an energy scaffold with his ring, guiding the panel into place. “Careful, Big Blue. One wrong push and we have to fish it out of orbit.”

Superman smirked. “You act like I’ve never assembled a space station before.”

John snorted. “I have. And I’m still doing most of the heavy lifting.”

Superman chuckled but didn’t argue, using his heat vision to seal the alloy in place.

A few hundred meters away, Wonder Woman stood inside the half-built command center, examining the massive holographic display system being integrated into the main deck. “Cyborg, how much longer until the security matrix is online?”

Cyborg’s hands moved like lightning over the controls, his systems syncing with the station’s framework. “A few more hours. This much processing power needs time to stabilize.”

Flash appeared beside him in an instant, holding a bundle of cables. “Got the wiring you asked for, also, I may or may not have rerouted one of the power grids because it looked like it was going to short out.”

Cyborg raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least label what you moved?”

Flash blinked. “…No?”

Cyborg sighed. “Great. If we lose gravity, I’m blaming you.”

Aquaman, standing near the armory bay, crossed his arms. “And where exactly is the ocean monitoring system going?”

Batman, who had been reviewing structural integrity reports, barely glanced up. “Level six. Adjacent to the environmental control hub.”

“Good. Because if you expect me to be in space without a direct link to Atlantis, you’re out of your mind.”

Batman ignored him, moving toward the central interface. The dark expanse of space reflected off the massive display screens, the final schematics of the Watchtower glowing in blue light.

Everything was on schedule. Soon, the League would have the most advanced operational base the world had ever seen.

As the hours passed, the final systems locked into place. Cyborg synced the AI protocols, creating an automated defense grid. Green Lantern reinforced the outer shielding with energy barriers. Flash triple-checked power routing, ensuring no “accidental” shorts. Aquaman secured environmental controls, including deep-sea communications. Superman tested structural integrity across the base. Wonder Woman finalized tactical response protocols and Batman implemented multi-tiered security encryptions.

As the last module was installed, Superman floated back into the central deck, gazing through the massive glass viewport at the Earth below.

Wonder Woman stepped beside him. “We did it.”

Superman nodded. “Now we just have to protect it.”

Batman’s voice cut through the comms. “We’re officially online.”

The Watchtower came to life, the deep hum of its power core thrumming through the station.

Cyborg grinned. “Welcome to our new home.”

The Justice League stood together, overlooking their greatest creation. A symbol of hope, strength, and the future.

—-——————

The stars stretched infinitely before them, their light soft but endless, untouched by the pollution of Earth’s atmosphere. From up here, everything below seemed so small, yet at the same time, unbelievably precious.

Clark stood near the curved observation window, arms folded as he gazed at the Earth spinning beneath them. The silence of space was unlike anything else, calm, endless, grounding.

Behind him, standing in the shadows, was Bruce. “You’re quiet,” Bruce said, his voice low, even.

Clark turned slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t realize I needed to fill the silence.”

Bruce stepped closer, stopping beside him. “You usually do.”

Clark huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Guess I just like the view.”

Bruce glanced at him, but Clark wasn’t looking at the stars anymore. Bruce held his gaze. They stood there, just the two of them, the quiet hum of the station surrounding them.

Bruce exhaled, looking back toward the planet. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Clark tilted his head. “What?”

Bruce’s shoulders shifted slightly. “That we made this.”

Clark nodded, looking out the window again. “Yeah. It’s different. Looking at Earth from up here.” He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Makes everything feel a little less heavy.”

Bruce scoffed softly. “You’re just saying that because it’s your first time on an orbital station and not just free floating in space.”

Clark nudged him with his shoulder, smirking. “Jealous?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but his posture relaxed.

Clark exhaled, watching as the Earth spun slowly beneath them. “It’s peaceful up here.”

Bruce nodded. “For now.”

Clark studied him for a moment, then spoke quietly. “You don’t always have to think about the next fight, Bruce.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Clark’s voice softened. “You can take a breath.”

Bruce turned, finally meeting his gaze again. “And what happens when I do?”

Clark’s smile was small but real. “Then maybe you realize you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Bruce exhaled, softer this time. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Clark didn’t hesitate. “Then let me help.”

Bruce watched him, expression unreadable. Then his hand brushed against Clark’s. Just slightly. Barely there. Clark didn’t move away.

Instead, he took Bruce’s hand, slow and deliberate, threading their fingers together.

Bruce didn’t pull back. He just stood there, watching as Clark laced their hands together in the quiet of space, the Earth turning slowly beneath them.

Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We’re in this together, Bruce.”

Bruce’s fingers tightened around his. “…I know.”

The words were soft, almost hesitant, an admission Bruce wouldn’t have made before. But here, with only the stars and the silence of space surrounding them, there was no mask to hide behind.

Clark squeezed his hand gently. “Then stop pretending you have to do this alone.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing against Clark’s without thinking. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

Bruce gave him a look. “You think this—” he gestured vaguely between them, their joined hands still lingering in the space between them “—is simple?”

Clark smiled, his eyes warm. “No. But I think we’ve made things harder on ourselves than we needed to.”

Bruce sighed, but Clark could see it now, the way he wasn’t fighting as hard as he used to.

He was still Bruce Wayne, still Batman, still the man who built walls around himself so high that no one could get through. But Clark had made it inside. And Bruce hadn’t pushed him out.

Clark took a small step closer, still holding onto Bruce’s hand. “So what now?”

Bruce studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes scanning Clark’s face, searching for something. “I don’t know.”

Clark nodded. “That’s okay.”

Bruce exhaled. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Clark’s grin softened. “Not a chance.”

Bruce huffed, shaking his head, but there was no real fight in it.

Clark’s free hand lifted slowly, giving Bruce time to pull away if he wanted to. His fingers brushed along Bruce’s jaw, light, careful, as if grounding him in the moment.

Clark’s voice was softer now. More certain. “We can figure this out.”

Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered. Then, finally, he leaned in.

Clark met him halfway.

The first brush of their lips was soft, a quiet moment neither of them would have let themselves have before.

Bruce’s fingers curled against Clark’s hand, enveloping himself in the warmth, in the reality of it.

Clark deepened the kiss just slightly, steady, patient, as if telling Bruce without words that this was real, that this was okay.

When they finally pulled apart, Bruce didn’t let go.

Clark smiled, forehead resting against his. “See? Not so complicated.”

Bruce exhaled, shaking his head, but he was smiling. Clark didn’t say anything about it.

He just held onto him.

Chapter Text

The sound of laughter, cheers, and carnival music filled the air, the scent of popcorn and sawdust thick beneath the bright circus lights. Bruce sat near the front row, his posture relaxed but his mind never fully at ease. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, always aware, always watching.

Tonight, for once, he wasn’t here for business or patrol. He had been invited by Mayor Hill, expected to make an appearance as Gotham’s favorite billionaire. 

Clark sat beside him, equally absorbed in the performance. His disguise was minimal—a pair of dark glasses with a different silhouette than usual, a slightly unkempt coat—but it was enough to let him blend into the crowd.

“You actually came,” Bruce murmured, voice just low enough for Clark to hear.

Clark smirked, eyes still on the act. “You asked.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgment, shifting his focus to the main event.

The Flying Graysons took center stage, their signature red-and-gold costumes gleaming under the spotlights. John and Mary Grayson, two of the most skilled aerialists in the world, stood poised on the high wire, their son Richard watching from the sidelines.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen! The legendary Flying Graysons will perform tonight’s grand finale—without a safety net!”

Applause thundered through the tent. Bruce’s hands tightened into fists.

Clark leaned in slightly. “You don’t like this, do you?”

Bruce’s voice was clipped. “It’s reckless.”

Clark exhaled. “They know what they’re doing.”

Bruce wasn’t convinced. His instincts screamed that something was wrong.

High above, John and Mary began their routine. Their movements were flawless, synchronized, effortless, a testament to years of training and trust. Then came the final trick.

John swung from the highest bar, reaching for Mary—

The rope snapped.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as the performers plummeted toward the ground. The impact was instant, the sound of bodies hitting the earth a sickening finality.

Bruce was on his feet before he realized it. The tent filled with screams, the once-lively atmosphere shattered by tragedy. Clark remained still, jaw tight, hands clenched against his knees. 

He could have saved them. If he had been faster. If he had acted the second the rope weakened. His stomach twisted, but he knew this wasn’t his moment to interfere.

Bruce moved before anyone else, his steps quick and calculated as he approached the fallen performers. The medics were too slow. There was nothing to be done.

The bodies were still.

A small figure stood motionless near the wreckage. Richard Grayson.

The boy’s hands were clenched at his sides, his breathing uneven as he stared at the place where his parents had just been. His face was blank, but Bruce knew that look too well. It was the look of a child whose world had just ended.

Bruce crouched beside him. The boy didn’t flinch. Bruce didn’t speak right away, giving him a moment. The world around them blurred, flashing lights, frantic voices, gasps of horror. None of it mattered.

Richard’s voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper. “They’re gone.”

Bruce nodded once. “I know.”

The boy swallowed hard, eyes still locked on the ground. “They weren’t supposed to fall.”

Bruce’s chest tightened. Neither were mine.

Clark stood a few feet away, watching silently. 

Bruce kept his voice steady. “You’re not alone.”

Richard finally looked up. His eyes were red but dry, filled with sadness and anger. Something Bruce recognized in himself.

The boy squared his shoulders, small hands still trembling. “What happens now?”

Bruce didn’t hesitate. “You come with me.”

Richard frowned, uncertainty flashing in his expression. “Why?”

Bruce met his gaze. “Because I know what this feels like.”

Clark inhaled slowly, watching as the unspoken understanding passed between them. Bruce wasn’t just offering the boy a home, he was offering him a new purpose. A chance to heal. A future.

—-——————

The manor was quieter than usual.

Not because it was empty—far from it. There was a new presence in the house, one that was small in stature but filled every inch of space with an energy Bruce hadn’t been accustomed to in years.

Dick Grayson had been at Wayne Manor for exactly seven days. He spent most of his time wandering the halls, exploring, observing. He didn’t speak much unless spoken to, but he wasn’t withdrawn either. There was something sharp behind his eyes, a quiet calculation, like he was trying to piece together the rules of his new reality.

Bruce had seen that look before on himself.

Dick sat cross-legged on the massive couch in the den, flipping through the TV channels without real interest. He had a book in his lap, something Alfred had left for him, but he hadn’t turned a page in a while.

Bruce stood in the doorway, watching for a moment before stepping inside.

Dick glanced at him. “Is this where I live now?”

Bruce exhaled. “For as long as you want.”

Dick nodded once, his small fingers drumming against the book cover. “It’s weird.”

Bruce sat on the armrest of the couch. “What is?”

Dick shifted. “This place. You.” He hesitated, then said, “It’s too big.”

Bruce smirked faintly. “I agree.”

Dick’s lips twitched slightly. “Then why do you live here?”

Bruce considered his answer. “It’s my family’s home.”

Dick looked around. “It doesn’t feel like a family home.”

Bruce’s chest tightened. No, it hadn’t. Not for a long time.

He cleared his throat. “It will.”

Dick studied him for a moment before looking back at the TV. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Clark arrived at Wayne Manor just before sunset. Bruce met him in the study, where the fire burned low, casting warm shadows along the walls.

Clark leaned against the desk, arms crossed, studying Bruce carefully. “You’re sure about this?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes.”

Clark exhaled. “You’re adopting him.”

Bruce’s voice was steady. “He needs someone.”

Clark held his gaze. “So did you.”

Bruce didn’t flinch. “I made it through.”

Clark sighed. “Not the same thing.”

Bruce knew that. There had been no one to pull him out when he had fallen into his grief. No one to tell him that he didn’t have to let anger define him. Dick had that chance, because Bruce wasn’t going to let him go through this alone.

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

Clark smiled, stepping closer. “I do. Have you told him yet?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not in those words. I’m giving him space.”

Clark nodded. “Good.”

Bruce studied him for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then he shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against Clark’s wrist. Clark glanced down, surprised by the contact.

Bruce spoke, his voice quieter now. “This isn’t something I should do alone.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “Bruce—”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Bruce held his gaze. “That I don’t ask for help. That I push people away.”

Clark didn’t deny it.

Bruce exhaled. “I don’t want to do that with you.”

Clark’s heartbeat picked up. “What are you saying?”

“If we’re doing this,” he said slowly, “I want to do it right.”

Clark tilted his head. “Define ‘this.’”

Bruce gave him a look.

Clark smiled. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Bruce sighed and hit Clark’s shoulder with his own. “Us,” he said finally. “I want us to be together. Officially.”

Clark stared at him. Out of all the things Bruce could have said tonight, he hadn’t expected that.

Clark swallowed. “Because of Dick?”

Bruce shook his head. “Because of you.” His voice was steady, sure. “Because I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care.”

Clark felt his stomach flutter. Bruce Wayne, the most impossibly stubborn man in existence, was standing in front of him, asking to let him in. Clark wasn’t about to turn him away.

A slow smile pulled at his lips. “Took you long enough.”

Bruce looked at him deadpan. “Are you going to make this difficult?”

Clark stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Always.”

Bruce smirked. “Good.”

Clark leaned in, closing the distance between them, his lips brushing against Bruce’s in a kiss that had been waiting to happen for far too long.

For the first time in a long, long time, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the next battle, the next crisis, the next war. For once, he was here.

Clark pulled back just slightly, his smile soft and sure.

Bruce glanced at the door. “We have a kid upstairs, you know.”

Clark nodded. “Yeah. And now he has two dads instead of one.”

—-——————

The air was crisp, the sun casting long golden streaks through the canopy of trees that lined Robinson Park. The city’s usual gloom felt distant here, softened by the sound of children laughing, leaves crunching under sneakers, and the occasional bark of a passing dog.

Clark sat on a bench, sipping a cup of coffee as he watched Dick dart across the playground. The kid had way too much energy, flipping from bars, racing across balance beams, scaling climbing walls like it was second nature.

Clark smiled. “You ever slow down?”

Dick grinned at him from the top of the jungle gym. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Clark shook his head. He should’ve guessed. The kid had acrobatics in his blood.

Dick dropped down effortlessly, landing in front of Clark with a smug little bounce. “So Bruce just let you take me out, huh?”

Clark laughed. “Let’s be honest. I didn’t ask.”

Dick snorted. “Nice.”

Clark took another sip of his coffee, letting the moment settle. Dick had been living at the manor for a couple of weeks now, and while he was adjusting, there was still a distance in his eyes sometimes. Like he was waiting for this all to be temporary.

Clark didn’t push. He just showed up, the same way Bruce did, in his own silent, brooding way.

Clark stood, stretching his arms. “Alright, kid. What’s next?”

Dick opened his mouth to answer when something caught Clark’s ear.

A scream. Distant. Frantic. Somewhere in the park.

Clark’s entire posture shifted. His eyes flickered toward the source—just beyond the tree line, near the walking trail. Someone was in trouble.

Clark glanced at Dick. The kid was sharp, already noticing Clark’s sudden shift in focus.

Clark forced a smile. “Hey, why don’t you grab a snack from that cart over there? My treat.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know what you like.”

Clark tossed him a twenty. “Surprise me.”

Before Dick could question him further, Clark moved.

Clark ducked behind the large oak tree near the edge of the playground, moving faster than the eye could follow. His hands loosened his tie, pulling apart his shirt to reveal the familiar red and yellow crest beneath.

In a flash, Clark Kent was gone and Superman took off.

The source of the scream was a woman, pinned against the ground by two men in ski masks. Her purse was already torn from her hands, her breath coming in frantic gasps as they tried to drag her into the alley near the park’s edge.

Superman landed with a controlled thud, his cape settling behind him. Both men froze.

Superman’s voice was calm, steady. “That’s enough.”

The men barely had time to react before a gust of wind knocked them off their feet. One of them scrambled up and tried to run. Superman flicked his wrist.

The man was suddenly weightless, hovering three feet off the ground as Superman held him in place with a single hand.

The other tried to lunge with a knife. Superman snapped the blade in half like it was a twig.

“Bad idea,” he said simply.

Within seconds, both were unconscious, tied securely to a lamppost with a nearby bicycle lock.

The woman, still shaking, looked up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

Superman offered a kind smile. “You’re safe now.”

Sirens blared in the distance, GCPD responding fast. He gave the woman a reassuring nod before lifting off the ground, disappearing into the sky.

Clark landed back behind the same oak tree, his suit shifting back into place, glasses slipping onto his face just as he stepped back onto the playground.

He let out a small breath, smoothing his tie. Crisis averted. Then he turned—

And saw Dick standing a few feet away holding a bag of popcorn, his mouth slightly open and eyes huge. Clark froze.

Dick blinked. Then pointed a finger at him. “You’re Superman.”

Clark opened his mouth. Closed it. Then sighed. “…Yeah.”

Dick stared for another long, solid second. Then his expression split into the biggest grin Clark had ever seen. “That. Is. SO COOL.”

Clark blinked. “You’re not freaked out?”

Dick snorted. “Freaked out? Dude, you just—” he gestured wildly toward the sky. “—changed into freaking Superman behind a tree like it was no big deal!”

Clark shifted. “Well, I mean—”

Dick cut him off. “Does Bruce know?”

Clark paused. “Yes.”

Dick gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, does Alfred know?”

Clark chuckled. “Alfred knew before I told him.”

Dick took a huge bite of popcorn, still grinning. “Man. This explains so much.”

Clark tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Dick wiped his hands on his jeans. “You’re too nice to be normal. No way a regular guy just hangs out with Bruce Wayne and puts up with all his weird rich-guy drama unless he’s a literal superhero.”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “You figured me out, huh?”

Dick grinned proudly. “Yep.”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess that means I can trust you to keep the secret?”

Dick snorted. “Clark. Please. I live in a house with a guy who disappears at night and comes back covered in bruises pretending like nothing happened. I think I can keep a secret.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “That’s… a fair point.”

Dick popped another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “This is officially the best day of my life.”

Clark smirked. “Because you found out I’m Superman?”

Dick pointed at him. “Because I found out Bruce has a boyfriend who’s Superman.”

Clark choked. “Excuse me?”

Dick grinned, rocking on his heels. “I knew something was up. You guys do the whole ‘talk without talking’ thing.” He threw his hands up. “Bruce never lets people in! But you? You’re always there. It makes sense now.”

Clark’s ears burned. “We haven’t exactly—”

Dick raised an eyebrow.

Clark sighed, rubbing his face. “Okay, fine. Yes. Bruce and I are together.”

Dick fist-pumped. “Ha! I knew it!”

Clark huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You really are too smart for your own good.”

Dick beamed. “That’s what my mom used to say.”

Clark’s smile softened. He placed a gentle hand on the kid’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here, Dick.”

Dick grinned up at him. “Me too.”

Clark glanced toward the street. “Ready to head back?”

Dick nodded. “Yeah. But first,” He held out his phone. “Can I get a picture with Superman?”

Clark laughed. This kid was going to be trouble, but the best kind.

—-——————

Clark and Dick arrived at the manor just as the Gotham sky turned a deep shade of blue-gray, the last light of day fading behind the skyline.

The massive iron gates creaked open as they approached, and the moment the car rolled up the long driveway, Dick practically bounced out of his seat. Clark barely had time to turn off the engine before the kid bolted inside.

Clark sighed, rubbing his temple. “He’s excited.”

Alfred, who had been waiting by the door with his usual poised expression, simply nodded. “I take it Master Richard enjoyed his time at the park?”

“You could say that.”

From down the hall, Dick’s voice rang out loudly. “BRUCE! I KNOW YOUR BOYFRIEND IS SUPERMAN!”

Clark groaned. “Or you could let him say it for himself.”

Alfred’s lips twitched in amusement. “Ah. I was wondering when he’d figure it out.”

Inside the study, Bruce sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, watching as Dick stood in front of him, grinning ear to ear.

Bruce barely raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

Dick threw his arms out. “I saw him change behind a tree! Like, full-on suit swap, glasses off, the whole thing! He thought he was being slick, but nope! Busted.”

Clark stepped into the room. “Thanks for that, Dick.”

Dick smirked. “No problem, Superman.”

Bruce exhaled, setting his pen down. “So. How do you feel about it?”

Dick tilted his head. “That Clark is Superman? Or that you two are dating?”

Bruce stared at him. “…Both.”

Dick shrugged. “Clark being Superman? Awesome. I mean, I should’ve guessed sooner. He’s way too courteous to be normal.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “I feel like that’s an insult.”

Dick grinned. “It’s a compliment.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair. “And the other thing?”

Dick smirked. “You mean the ‘Bruce has feelings like a real human being’ thing?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Choose your next words carefully.”

Dick snickered. “I think it’s great.” His expression softened slightly. “I mean, you actually seem… I don’t know. Less ‘I carry the weight of Gotham on my back alone’ and more ‘I carry the weight of Gotham, but I have a boyfriend who flies and brings me coffee.’”

Clark chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I regret taking you in.”

Dick grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce didn’t respond. Clark noticed the smallest flicker of warmth in his expression.

Dick flopped onto the couch dramatically. “Man. This is gonna be fun.”

Clark folded his arms. “How so?”

Dick smirked. “Because now I know I have the most overpowered parental supervision in history.”

Clark laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

Bruce sighed, rubbing his temple. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

Dick beamed. “Absolutely.”

Alfred entered, clearing his throat. “Would anyone like tea before this conversation spirals further into chaos?”

Clark smiled. “I’d love some.”

Dick stretched across the couch. “Got any cookies?”

Alfred tilted his head. “I shall see what I can do.”

Bruce, watching the scene unfold, leaned back in his chair. This was family. And for the first time since his parents had died, he let himself have it.

—-——————

The study was quiet, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Dick and Alfred in the kitchen, debating cookie flavors.

Clark sat on the couch, stretching his long legs out as he watched Bruce nurse a glass of whiskey at his desk. There was something different in his expression tonight—less guarded, more contemplative.

Clark had seen Bruce in battle, in pain, in triumph. This was something else.

Bruce exhaled, setting his drink down before looking at Clark. “Move in.”

Clark blinked. “That’s direct.”

Bruce shrugged. “Why waste time?”

Clark chuckled, leaning forward. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.”

Bruce studied him. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Clark sighed. “I still work in Metropolis.”

Bruce leaned back, fingers tapping against the desk. “So? The commute’s fast for you.”

Clark smirked. “Not the point.”

Bruce didn’t press. He simply waited.

Clark exhaled. “I like my apartment. I like having a place that’s still… mine. For now, at least.”

Bruce nodded, his expression unreadable. “It’s a cover.”

Clark hesitated. “Partly. But also because I don’t want to just be ‘Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend who lives in Gotham now.’”

Bruce’s jaw tensed.

Clark softened his voice. “This isn’t me saying no, Bruce. It’s me saying that I want to do this right.”

Bruce sighed, reaching for his glass again. “You’re impossible.”

Clark grinned. “You like that about me.”

Bruce didn’t deny it. Instead, he took a sip of his drink, considering something.

After a moment, he spoke again. “What about going public?”

Clark arched an eyebrow. “With us?”

Bruce nodded. “It’s not like people haven’t speculated already.”

Clark snorted. “You mean the tabloids?”

Bruce gestured vaguely toward his desk, where several folded newspapers were stacked. He picked up the top one and tossed it to Clark. Clark unfolded it, scanning the front-page headline.

WAYNE & KENT: BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY & METROPOLIS’ GOLDEN REPORTER—BEST FRIENDS OR MORE?

Clark groaned. “Wow. They really went for subtlety, huh?”

Bruce smirked. “Gotham tabloids never do.”

Clark skimmed the article, eyes narrowing. “Why do they make it sound like I’m some starry-eyed intern you’re leading on?”

Bruce chuckled, sipping his drink. “Because Gotham likes a scandal.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “You really don’t care, do you?”

Bruce set his glass down. “Do you?”

Clark hesitated. Not because he was afraid, but because it was a big decision. Being Superman and being Clark Kent had always meant walking a line between what was private and what wasn’t.

Did he care if people knew about them? No. Did he care about what it could mean for Bruce? Yes.

Clark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mind people knowing. I just… don’t want it to become a thing that overshadows everything else.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Then we control the narrative.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “That easy?”

Bruce smirked. “It’s what I do.”

Clark huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Of course it is.”

Bruce leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady, certain. “So? Do we tell them?”

Clark thought about it. Really thought about it. Then he smiled.

“Yeah. Let’s tell them.”

Bruce nodded once. Decision made.

Clark leaned back on the couch, smirking. “So, how do you think Gotham is going to react when they find out their favorite billionaire is dating a poor person?”

Bruce took another sip of whiskey. “They’ll survive.” He reached over, lacing their fingers together.

Clark nodded contemplatively. “I’m going to keep my apartment, but I will keep sleeping here with you.”

Bruce smiled, “I can live with it.”

They both knew that eventually, it would turn into Clark living there full time.

Chapter Text

The newsroom buzzed with energy, the sound of ringing phones, rapid typing, and the occasional burst of laughter filling the space as Clark stepped off the elevator. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and ink from the morning press hung in the air, grounding him in a place that felt like home.

Even after everything—the Watchtower, Bruce, Dick, the decision to go public—this was still his world.

His pace was unhurried as he made his way through the bullpen, nodding at a few colleagues before spotting Lois at her desk. She was hunched over her laptop, brow furrowed, typing at a speed that could put the Flash to shame.

Clark hesitated, feeling an odd weight settle in his chest. It had been weeks since they had sat down and talked. Really talked.

The Savage crisis had changed everything. After the mission, after almost losing himself to kryptonite and whatever horrors Luthor had planned, he had thrown himself into other things. Healing. Recovery. Bruce.

Meanwhile, Lois had been left behind.

Clark had always known he was terrible at balancing things. He was either all in or all absent, and for the first time in a long time, he realized he had been the latter.

Before he could overthink it, he approached her desk. “Lois.”

She barely glanced up. “Kent, unless you’re handing me an exclusive interview with Superman, I’m kind of busy.”

Clark smirked. “Depends. Would a sit-down with Gotham’s most brooding billionaire count?”

That got her attention. Lois’s fingers paused over the keyboard, her sharp eyes flickering up to him. For a moment, she studied him, taking in his expression, his stance. Then she leaned back in her chair, arms folding. “So. You finally decided to tell me.”

Clark shifted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You knew?”

Lois snorted. “Clark. Please. The amount of time you’ve been spending in Gotham? The fact that Bruce Wayne, who doesn’t talk to anyone for more than a week, somehow has casual coffee chats with you for months on end?” She shook her head. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while.”

Clark exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Lois arched an eyebrow. “Damn right you should have.”

He sighed, finally sitting in the chair across from her desk. “Lois, I’m sorry. For a lot of things.”

Her expression softened just slightly, though her voice remained firm. “You’ve been off the grid, Clark. Even for you. Ever since the Savage thing, it’s like you just checked out.”

Clark’s stomach turned. He knew she was right. “I didn’t mean to.”

Lois studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “So tell me. What’s going on?”

Clark exhaled slowly. “I’m serious about him.”

Lois blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his confession.

Clark shrugged slightly. “I don’t know how it happened. Or maybe I do, but I just didn’t want to admit it for a long time. Bruce and I… it’s complicated, but it’s real.”

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly, considering him. Then she sighed. “Clark, I like you. I really do. But Bruce Wayne?” She tapped a pen against the desk. “That man is a walking emotional disaster.”

Clark huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Lois tilted her head. “So, what? You’re gonna ‘fix’ him?”

Clark shook his head. “No. He doesn’t need fixing. He just needs someone to remind him that he doesn’t have to do everything alone.”

Lois studied him for a moment longer before sighing, shaking her head with a smirk. “You always were a sucker for the lost causes.”

Clark smirked back. “Lucky for you, huh?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, Clark—Bruce Wayne? Gotham’s literal prince?” She exhaled. “I’m happy for you. I really am. Just be careful, okay?”

Clark nodded. “I will be.”

Lois leaned back. “So, what’s the plan? Are you going public? Because the moment one of Gotham’s elite steps outside with the most handsome reporter in Metropolis, the press is gonna eat it up.”

Clark chuckled. “We’re working on it.”

Lois smirked. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to drop the exclusive.”

Clark grinned. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the story.”

She waved him off. “Damn right, you wouldn’t.”

For the first time in weeks, Clark felt like he had made things right with her. Maybe not entirely. Maybe not completely, but they were getting there. Clark would make sure he never forgot his friends again.

—-——————

The air inside the Watchtower’s main conference chamber was serious, or at least, it was supposed to be. The room was sleek and modern, lined with holographic displays and interstellar communications panels, designed for coordinating the most powerful forces on the planet. At the moment, however, it was being used for something else entirely.

“…So, we’re just not gonna talk about it?”

All heads turned toward Hal Jordan, the new Green Lantern, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking like he had been waiting for the right moment to speak. He had joined the League after John committed to a long-term off world mission.

Across the table, Batman didn’t react.

Superman, however, tilted his head slightly. “Talk about what?”

Hal gestured vaguely. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that Gotham’s most eligible billionaire is officially off the market?”

Batman exhaled slowly.

Superman blinked, feigning innocence. “I don’t really see how that’s relevant to League business.”

Hal grinned. “It’s relevant to me, because I just found out that Bruce freaking Wayne has a boyfriend and none of us got the memo.”

Diana, arms folded, raised an amused eyebrow. “You care about Gotham’s gossip now?”

Hal huffed. “Excuse you, Princess, but I care when some random guy manages to date one of the richest men in the world before I even get a chance to say hello.”

Barry, who had been silently vibrating in his seat from barely-contained amusement, finally let out a laugh. “Oh my God. Hal, are you jealous?”

Hal threw up his hands. “I’m just saying! Some random dude got wined and dined by Bruce Wayne while the rest of us are out here struggling?”

J’onn, ever composed, tilted his head. “It is surprising. Wayne’s history of public relationships has always been… inconsistent.”

Arthur smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You mean the dude’s a hoe?”

Superman, who had been listening quietly, sat up straighter. His normally calm expression shifted, and his voice came out firm, even. “Bruce Wayne is not a hoe.”

The room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at Superman, whose face remained perfectly composed, as if he had not just defended Gotham’s resident CEO with absolute certainty. Batman still hadn’t moved.

Hal blinked. Barry looked like he was actively restraining laughter. Diana subtly pressed her lips together.

Arthur squinted. “Okay, that was a lot of conviction. How do you even know that?”

Superman crossed his arms. “I just do.”

Barry, biting back a grin, leaned forward. “So you’ve met Bruce Wayne, then?”

Superman didn’t budge. “We’ve interacted.”

Hal’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. Have you met the boyfriend?”

Superman’s jaw tightened. “…In a way.”

Barry gasped. “Oh my God, you have. Who is he?”

Batman finally spoke. “Focus.” His voice was low, gravelly, irritated.

Hal rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Bats, even you have to admit it’s wild that Gotham’s most brooding playboy is suddenly in a committed relationship.”

Batman didn’t respond.

Barry, eyes glinting with mischief, leaned toward Superman. “If you had to describe him, what’s he like?”

Superman shifted in his seat. “He’s… intelligent. Dedicated. Private.”

Hal smirked. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush on him.”

Superman didn’t react. “I respect him.”

Diana finally decided to intervene, amusement flickering in her gaze. “As fascinating as this conversation is, perhaps we could return to League business?”

Hal sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But I still say Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend is the luckiest guy on the planet.”

Superman smirked slightly. “I’d have to agree.”

Batman didn’t even look up, but Clark could feel the glare. It was entirely worth it.

—-——————

The Justice League meeting adjourned, with heroes filing out of the conference room in pairs and small groups, still murmuring about their latest mission assignments.

Superman lingered behind, as did Batman. Clark didn’t even have to turn to know Bruce was standing near the back of the room, arms crossed, his cape barely shifting as he watched the others leave. Only when the door slid shut, sealing them inside, did Bruce speak.

“You enjoyed that.”

Clark grinned, turning toward him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bruce exhaled sharply, stepping forward, his movements slow, controlled. “Defending my honor?” His tone was dry, but there was something behind it, something close to amusement.

Clark crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I was just stating the truth. You’re not a hoe.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clark.”

Clark chuckled. “What? I mean, technically, I’m the only one who could confirm or deny that.”

Bruce leveled him with a flat look. “You’re insufferable.”

Clark grinned wider. “Yet, here we are.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Clark stepped closer, lowering his voice. “So… am I really the luckiest guy on the planet?”

Bruce’s gaze flickered up to meet his, something unreadable in those blue eyes. “That’s what they said.”

Clark smiled, soft and warm. “What do you say?”

Bruce hesitated for only a fraction of a second before scoffing softly. “I’d say it’s debatable.”

Clark arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Bruce’s voice dropped lower, his tone smooth. “Because I’d argue that I’m the lucky one.”

Clark’s breath hitched. Bruce stepped past him, intentionally brushing their shoulders as he moved toward the exit. Clark turned to watch him go, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bruce paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or do you need to keep stroking your ego?”

Clark laughed. “You do that just fine on your own.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and stepped out. Clark followed, his heart light, his smile easy. Because, honestly? He did feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

—-——————

The manor was quiet. Too quiet.

Dick had lived here long enough to know that stillness in Wayne Manor meant only one thing, Bruce wasn’t home. Again. Which, on the surface, wasn’t a big deal. Billionaires had places to be, right? Meetings, events, mysterious business dealings.

Except Bruce Wayne had none of those scheduled tonight. And even if he did, why the hell was there a hidden underground cave beneath the manor?

Dick paced back and forth in his room, heart hammering against his ribs. His brain was still trying to process what he had discovered less than an hour ago. He had always been curious. Alfred would give him vague answers when Bruce disappeared, and Clark wasn’t always around to fill in the blanks.

So tonight, when Bruce had vanished after dinner, Dick had finally decided to investigate. Which led to him finding the grandfather clock. Which led to him poking around. Which led to the secret entrance. Which led to the Batcave. Holy. Crap.

The moment he had stepped inside, it had hit him. The massive underground lair, the rows of advanced technology, the bat-shaped emblem on the high-tech suits lined up against the walls—

Bruce Wayne was Batman. The realization had nearly knocked him off his feet. It made sense. The constant disappearances, the bruises he tried to hide, the way he trained like a soldier instead of a businessman. Bruce was Gotham’s Dark Knight!

Dick had stumbled back up to the main house, his mind racing. He wasn’t even sure how long he had been sitting in his room, trying to process. Then, as his brain caught up to the reality of it all, a new thought hit him. Bruce had been doing this alone. For years.

It wasn’t fair. Dick clenched his fists. Bruce had taken him in, told him he wasn’t alone anymore. And yet, every night, he went out into Gotham and fought by himself. That wasn’t how family worked.

Dick’s heart pounded as he crept back down the hall, still wearing his sweatpants and a hoodie, his sneakers barely making a sound against the wooden floors. Bruce’s secret had changed everything. If Bruce thought he could keep him out of this, he was dead wrong.

Dick had already made up his mind. If Bruce was Batman, then Gotham’s next hero was about to hit the streets.

The hidden door to the cave creaked open, the cool underground air hitting him instantly. Dick stepped inside, his hands tightening into fists. This was real. This was happening. He had barely taken two steps before a voice cut through the darkness.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, young master.”

Dick froze. Alfred stood by the Batcomputer, arms folded neatly, his expression calm but sharp.

Dick forced a smile, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Hey, Alfred. What’s up?”

Alfred arched a brow. “I should be asking you that, considering you seem intent on sneaking into Gotham at midnight.”

Dick winced. “Right. So, uh… I found out Bruce is Batman.”

Alfred didn’t even blink. “Ah. So the world’s greatest detective was finally outmaneuvered by a twelve-year-old acrobat. He’ll be delighted.”

Dick huffed. “I’m thirteen.”

Alfred gave him a look.

Dick sighed. “Okay, fine, that’s not the point.”

Alfred stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. “And what, pray tell, do you intend to do with this newfound information?”

Dick squared his shoulders. “I’m going to help him.”

Alfred sighed deeply. “Ah. Of course.”

Dick frowned. “What? He needs backup!”

Alfred’s voice remained even. “Master Bruce would disagree.”

Dick crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, Master Bruce is an idiot.”

Alfred tilted his head. “Careful, young sir, that’s your guardian you’re speaking of.”

Dick huffed. “It’s not an insult! I just mean—he told me I wasn’t alone, right? That I didn’t have to deal with things alone. But he does this alone. Every night.”

Alfred’s gaze softened slightly.

Dick stepped forward. “I could help him. I know how to move. I know how to fight. I was trained by the best acrobats in the world.” He took a breath. “I know what it’s like to lose everything.”

Alfred studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Master Bruce would never forgive himself if something happened to you.”

Dick’s chest tightened. “Yeah? Well, maybe I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to him.”

Alfred didn’t respond at first. His gaze flickered toward the Batcomputer, where Gotham’s crime reports flickered across the screen, another violent night unfolding in the city. Then, slowly, Alfred exhaled.

“I suggest you return to your room, Master Richard.”

Dick frowned. “Alfred—”

Alfred’s expression remained unreadable. “If you truly wish to discuss this, I imagine Master Bruce would prefer to be present.”

Dick hesitated. Alfred was giving him an out. A chance to let Bruce explain himself before doing something reckless. Dick hated waiting, but he knew Alfred was right.

Reluctantly, he turned toward the exit. “Fine. But we’re not done talking about this.”

Alfred gave a small, knowing smile. “No, I imagine we are not.”

Dick sighed, heading back upstairs. Bruce thought he could keep him out of this life. He was about to learn just how stubborn Dick Grayson could be.

—-——————

Bruce hadn’t slept. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that his night had been spent reviewing surveillance footage—specifically, footage of his thirteen-year-old ward sneaking into the Batcave. Or, more accurately, trying to sneak out.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, jaw tight, expression unreadable, watching the security feed of Dick moving through the cave with far too much confidence for someone who should not have been down here.

He had expected this day to come eventually. He just hadn’t expected it so soon. A presence shifted behind him. He didn’t turn.

“You should get some rest, sir,” Alfred said evenly.

Bruce sighed. “I’ll rest when I figure out how to handle this.”

Alfred raised a brow. “I should think it’s quite simple. You talk to him.”

Bruce exhaled slowly. “I should’ve known he’d figure it out.”

Alfred’s lips twitched. “I did say he was remarkably perceptive.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t let him do this.”

Alfred was quiet for a beat. Then he said, “Then you’d best explain why.”

Bruce didn’t move, because that was the part he didn’t want to say out loud. The reason he had kept Dick in the dark wasn’t because he didn’t trust him. It wasn’t because he didn’t think the boy was capable. It was because he knew exactly what would happen if he let Dick into this life and Bruce couldn’t handle losing him, too.

Before he could say anything, the elevator hissed open. Dick marched inside. Bruce turned in his chair, arms crossing as he watched the kid approach.

Dick stopped in front of him, arms folded, chin tilted up in defiance. “So. You’re Batman.”

Bruce met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”

Dick’s lips pressed together. “And you weren’t gonna tell me?”

Bruce’s voice remained steady. “No.”

Dick huffed sharply. “Why not?”

Bruce exhaled. “Because it’s dangerous.”

Dick threw up his hands. “Everything’s dangerous! Living in Gotham is dangerous! That’s why you do what you do, right?” He stepped forward. “So why can’t I help?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“You told me I wasn’t alone, Bruce. But every night, you go out there and fight like you are.” His expression hardened. “You don’t get to have it both ways.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Dick squared his shoulders. “Then explain it to me.”

Bruce took a slow breath, forcing his tone to remain even. “This isn’t a game, Dick. It’s not a performance. People die out there. I nearly have. More times than I can count.”

Dick didn’t flinch. “Then why do it?”

Bruce’s breath hitched.

Dick stepped forward, voice quieter now. “If it’s so dangerous, if it’s so bad—why do you do it?”

Bruce’s hands curled into fists. “Because I have to.”

Dick held his gaze. “So do I.”

Bruce stared at him, something tugging at his chest. Because he knew that tone. He had used that tone once. A lifetime ago, when Alfred had tried to talk him down, when everyone had told him that he couldn’t do this and Bruce had done it anyway. Because he couldn’t stand by while others suffered.

Dick Grayson was the same. And Bruce hated it because it meant he couldn’t protect him from this life, not really. Not forever. A long silence stretched between them.

Then, quietly, Bruce said, “If you do this, there’s no going back.”

Dick’s expression didn’t waver. “I don’t want to go back.”

Bruce exhaled slowly. Then he stood. “Then you train.” His voice was firm, steady, absolute. “If you’re going to do this, you do it right.”

Dick’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. He nodded. “Okay.”

Bruce turned toward the training mats. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

The Watchtower’s command room was active, multiple holographic displays flickering with maps, live feeds, and League reports. The Justice League had gathered around the central roundtable, listening as Aquaman delivered his latest briefing on disturbances in the Atlantic.

Aquaman’s voice was firm, his golden armor gleaming under the artificial lights. “We’ve been tracking unauthorized deep-sea activity near the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Unknown vessels, advanced tech. They’re careful—whoever they are, they don’t want to be seen.”

Batman, arms folded, studied the projections. “Possible alien involvement?”

Cyborg shook his head. “Doubt it. The energy readings are too human. Advanced, yeah, but it’s not anything we haven’t seen from Earth-based black ops groups.”

Diana narrowed her eyes. “So someone is developing weapons beneath the ocean.”

Aquaman nodded. “That’s the working theory. If they’re this deep, it means one of two things—either they’re hiding from surface detection, or they’re hiding from me.”

Hal leaned forward, arms on the table. “Which means they’re either really stupid or really dangerous.”

Barry shrugged. “Could be both.”

Superman, who had been listening carefully, exchanged a glance with Batman.

Batman spoke, his voice even. “We’ll need more than scans. A deep infiltration mission is the next step.”

Aquaman nodded. “I’ll handle recon with Mera. We know those waters better than anyone.”

Superman folded his arms. “I can scan for heat signatures, if there’s activity down there, we’ll find it.”

Batman nodded. “Good. Keep us updated.”

With that, the briefing concluded, and the League slowly began filing out of the command room. Clark turned to Bruce, voice low. “We need to talk.”

Bruce glanced at him, then gave a bare nod. Without another word, Superman and Batman slipped into a side room, the doors sealing behind them. The room was quiet, away from the constant noise of the command center.

Clark exhaled, stepping closer. “How are you holding up?”

Bruce arched a brow. “You pulled me into a private room for that?”

Clark smirked. “Can’t a guy check in on his boyfriend?”

Bruce gave him a look.

Clark rolled his eyes. “Fine. I just—” He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “It’s been a long week. I wanted a second with you.”

Bruce’s posture loosened slightly. He understood what Clark wasn’t saying. So instead of answering, Bruce closed the space between them. Clark barely had a second to react before Bruce kissed him, slow and firm, his fingers brushing against Clark’s jaw. Clark’s breath hitched, his own hands gripping Bruce’s waist, deepening the kiss. This was what he needed.

Then—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

The moment shattered. Clark and Bruce whipped around, their hands still half-clinging to each other as Hal Jordan stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes were huge. His jaw had practically hit the floor.

Clark blinked. “Hal.”

Hal pointed wildly at them. “You—you’re—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Bruce exhaled slowly, eyes closing for half a second. Then, deadpan: “You’re standing in a doorway, Jordan.”

Hal stared. Then ran a hand down his face like his entire world had just changed. “Oh my God. Batman and Superman are—I walked in on—”

Clark coughed. “You didn’t walk in on anything.”

Hal threw up his hands. “Oh, sure, because catching you two sucking face in a side room is totally normal.”

Bruce tilted his head, unimpressed. “You act like this is shocking.”

Hal gaped at him. “You are Batman. The whole dark, brooding, emotionally unavailable thing? That’s your entire brand. And now you’re, you’re what? Secretly dating the Boy Scout?”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “I have a name, Hal.”

Hal ignored him. He turned to Bruce, still in some kind of existential crisis. “You—you’re emotionally compromised!”

Bruce blinked. “Excuse me?”

Hal threw up his hands. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re kissing Superman in the Watchtower while there’s a literal international weapons conspiracy happening!”

Clark sighed. “We were taking a moment. People in relationships do that.”

Hal pointed at him. “Yeah! Normal people! Not Batman!”

Bruce crossed his arms. “Are you done?”

Hal stared for another five seconds. Then sighed dramatically. “I’m never gonna get over this.”

Clark smirked. “You’ll survive.”

Hal huffed, shaking his head. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just don’t traumatize me again.”

Clark chuckled. “Noted.”

Hal muttered something about “needing a drink” before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.

Once he was gone, Clark turned back to Bruce, grinning. “Well, that went well.”

Bruce simply exhaled, rubbing his temple. “I regret everything.”

Clark laughed, pulling him back in. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce sighed, resting his forehead against Clark’s. “…No. I don’t.”

When Bruce and Clark stepped back into the meeting room, it was immediately clear that something had changed. It wasn’t in the way everyone stopped talking at once. It wasn’t even in the way Barry’s face practically lit up the moment they entered. It was in the collective, knowing expressions around the table.

Superman sighed. Batman remained impassive. Diana sat with perfect posture, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes dancing with amusement. Barry was practically vibrating in his seat, looking like he was about to explode if he didn’t speak soon.

Hal sat slouched in his chair, arms folded, still recovering from whatever existential crisis he had suffered. Arthur had his hands flat on the table, studying Bruce with a slow smirk, as if he was seeing him for the first time. J’onn, always the calmest in the room, simply tilted his head at them, expression unreadable.

Cyborg leaned back, arms crossed. “So. That happened.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “I’m not doing this.”

Barry immediately burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” he wheezed. “You guys—I mean, I knew something was up, but I thought, ‘No way, Batman doesn’t date, let alone Superman’—but here we are!”

Clark sighed, crossing his arms. “What gave it away?” He asked sarcastically.

Hal made a dramatic gesture. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you two were making out in a side room like a couple of teenagers?”

Bruce rubbed his temple.

Arthur smirked. “Honestly? I’m just impressed. Thought for sure Batman would die alone in his cave, but here we are.”

Diana, who had remained quiet up until now, finally smiled. “It’s good to see you happy.”

Bruce glanced at her. She was sincere. That much was clear. Bruce nodded slightly, acknowledging her words, but before he could even think about responding, Barry leaned forward, grinning like a man who had just found out the biggest gossip of his life.

“So,” Barry said, resting his chin on his hands. “Who made the first move?”

Clark sighed. “Barry—”

“No, no,” Barry cut him off, gesturing wildly. “I need to know. Did Batman, the king of emotional repression, actually confess first, or did Superman use his wholesome, golden-boy powers to crack the Bat?”

Bruce deadpanned. “I will eject you into space.”

Barry grinned wider. “Ah, so it was Clark.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “We’re here to talk about deep-sea weapons.”

Barry ignored him. “How long has this been going on?”

Diana tilted her head. “Yes, I must admit, I am curious as well.”

Clark opened his mouth, but Hal beat him to it. “That’s not even the real question,” he said, smirking now. “The real question is, who tops?”

Cyborg snorted. “Oh, that’s easy. It’s Superman.”

Clark gaped. “Excuse me?”

Arthur smirked. “I mean, it makes sense that Batman would want to relax for once.”

Barry grinned. “Yeah, Superman? Do you fly him to romantic cities at night? Are there rooftop kisses involved?”

Clark groaned, rubbing his face. “I hate all of you.”

Bruce simply turned to leave. “This meeting is over.”

Barry called after him. “So that’s a yes on the rooftop kisses?”

Bruce didn’t respond. Clark followed him, suppressing a smile. As the doors slid shut behind them, Barry turned to the table, still grinning.

“Okay. Who had ‘Batman and Superman are secretly dating’ on their Justice League Bingo Card?”

Diana simply sipped her tea.

J’onn exhaled. “Humans are exhausting.”

Cyborg grinned. “I dunno. This is the best meeting we’ve ever had.”

—-——————

The air inside the Batcave was cool, silent, charged with anticipation. The only sounds were the distant hum of the Batcomputer and the faint drip of water from the stalactites above. At the center of the cave, on the training mats, stood Dick.

His stance was firm but loose, a lifetime of acrobatics in his posture, even though he had no formal combat training yet. He was barefoot, dressed in training gear, eyes locked onto Bruce with an intensity that reminded Clark of someone else.

Bruce, still in his own training gear, stood a few paces away, arms folded. His voice was even, controlled. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Dick smirked. “You sure you want that?”

Clark, standing at the edge of the mat, chuckled. “Confidence is good. Overconfidence is dangerous.”

Dick shot him a grin. “Guess I’ll have to find the middle ground, huh?”

Bruce gave a small nod. “Then let’s find it.”

Without another word, Dick lunged. Dick moved fast. Faster than Bruce expected. He ducked low, sweeping for a leg strike, but Bruce sidestepped effortlessly, pivoting to avoid the attack. Dick used the momentum to flip backward, landing smoothly.

Bruce didn’t move. “Acrobatics won’t win a fight.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, but grinned. “Depends on the fight.”

He tried again, this time going for a rapid series of kicks. His form was good—unrefined, but natural. Bruce blocked each one with precision, absorbing the impact without flinching. Clark watched, arms crossed, nodding slightly. Dick’s instincts were incredible. His control was still developing, but he was reading Bruce’s movements and adjusting.

After a few more failed strikes, Dick jumped back, breathing harder. “Okay, so you’re not gonna let me hit you.”

Bruce was calm, steady. “You’re using too much movement.”

Dick frowned. “You just said acrobatics don’t win fights.”

Bruce tilted his head. “They don’t. But they can enhance them.” He gestured. “Footwork should be efficient. Not wasted.”

Dick processed that. Then nodded. “Alright.”

Clark stepped forward. “Let’s try something else.”

Bruce raised a brow. “You want to spar him?”

Clark smiled. “I won’t use my strength.”

Dick lit up immediately.  Clark stepped onto the mat, hands up in a relaxed but ready stance.

Dick hesitated. “Okay, but, like… how am I supposed to hit you?”

Clark smirked. “You tell me.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, then moved. He tested Clark’s reactions first, feints, quick footwork, light jabs. Clark barely moved, his superior reflexes kicking in even without effort. Then, suddenly, Dick feinted left but used his agility to spin around and aim a kick from behind. Clark actually had to step back.

Dick’s eyes widened. “Whoa. Did I just—”

Clark grinned. “Yeah. You did.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Dick turned back to Clark, eyes shining with determination. “Again.”

Clark nodded. “Again.”

For the next couple hours, Dick trained. Bruce taught him discipline, control, strategy. Clark helped him understand movement, fluidity, adaptability. Dick absorbed everything like a sponge. By the time they finished, he was panting, drenched in sweat, but grinning from ear to ear.

Bruce handed him a water bottle. “You did well.”

Dick took it, gulping it down before grinning at Clark. “So. How long before I get a suit?”

Bruce exhaled. “We’ll see.”

Dick grinned. “That means yes.”

Clark chuckled. “It means ‘be patient.’”

Dick laughed, stretching his arms. “Yeah, yeah.”

Bruce glanced at him, eyes thoughtful. He knew this was only the beginning.

—-——————

Mid-Atlantic Ridge, 200 Miles Off the Coast

The ocean stretched endlessly, dark and unyielding, as the Watchtower’s stealth shuttle hovered above the surface. The team inside was quiet and focused.

Batman stood at the command console, reviewing the mission parameters. Across from him, Aquaman adjusted his Atlantean armor, the ocean’s pull already calling to him. Superman stood near the hatch, arms crossed, gaze sharp as he scanned the sea below.

Green Lantern leaned against the wall, inspecting his ring. “So, just to be clear, we’re diving into the deep ocean with zero intel, hoping we don’t get blown up by some secret war machine?”

Batman didn’t look up. “Correct.”

Hal sighed. “Great. Love this plan.”

Wonder Woman, seated nearby, gave him a pointed look. “You could have stayed on the Watchtower.”

Hal scoffed. “And miss out on secret underwater weapons? No way.”

Cyborg, who had been syncing with the shuttle’s long-range scanners, spoke next. “I’m not picking up anything obvious. If they’re down there, they’re shielded.”

Superman nodded. “Then we do this the hard way.”

Batman turned to Aquaman. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Aquaman rolled his shoulders. “Stay close. The deep sea isn’t just dangerous because of whoever’s down there.”

With that, the hatch hissed open, and the ocean’s pressure swallowed them whole. Superman, Aquaman, and Green Lantern took point, their forms slipping beneath the waves. Batman, Wonder Woman, and Cyborg followed in a submersible, built with Wayne Tech cloaking systems to evade detection.

The further they descended, the darker it became. Hal’s ring glowed softly, casting eerie green light against the black void. Strange creatures slithered through the abyss, illuminated only by bioluminescent flashes.

Aquaman extended his senses, feeling for disturbances. His eyes narrowed. “Something’s wrong.”

Superman scanned ahead, his vision cutting through the murk. “There’s… something big down there.”

Cyborg’s voice crackled through the comms. “I’m picking up a structure.”

Batman leaned forward. “How big?”

Cyborg frowned. “Huge.”

Superman’s eyes glowed red as he zoomed in. “It’s not just a base. It’s a factory.”

Aquaman’s grip on his trident tightened. “Then it’s worse than we thought.”

Batman’s voice was calm but cold.“We need to get inside.”

No one argued. The Justice League moved silently, the crushing weight of the ocean pressing around them as they approached the hidden underwater facility. The structure was massive—a sprawling metallic fortress embedded into the sea floor, nearly invisible against the ridges of volcanic rock.

Superman hovered just outside, his enhanced vision scanning through the thick plating. “They’re using lead-lined walls. I can’t see inside.”

Aquaman extended his senses, searching for life signatures. “There are people inside. But I don’t recognize them as Atlantean.” His voice dropped lower. “They’re surface-dwellers.”

Cyborg, inside the cloaked submersible, tapped into his sensors. “Energy readings are spiking. This place is pulling serious power from geothermal vents.” His cybernetic eye flickered.

Wonder Woman swam beside Batman’s submersible, her armor gleaming even in the deep darkness. “How do we proceed?”

Hal Jordan swam above the facility, scanning for structural weaknesses with his ring. “I could blast a hole in it, but something tells me that’s not the sneaky approach you’re going for.”

Batman’s fingers flew over the holographic interface in his gauntlet. “No. We need a controlled entry. If they know we’re here, they might destroy the evidence.”

Aquaman gripped his trident, eyes sharp. “I see a pressure hatch. It leads into a docking bay.”

Superman nodded. “I can get us inside.”

Batman shot him a look. “Without announcing our presence?”

Superman smirked. “I can be careful, you know.”

He moved swiftly, using precise heat vision to cut through the locking mechanism of the hatch. The metal melted away quietly, and with a careful application of strength, he pried the hatch open just enough for them to slip inside.

The moment they entered, the cold metallic halls of the base stretched before them, dimly lit with emergency lighting. The water drained quickly behind them, leaving the facility eerily silent except for the distant hum of machinery.

Cyborg synced with the network, his eye flashing blue. “I’m in their system, they’ve got high-level encryption.”

Batman’s voice was low. “Who’s funding them?”

Cyborg worked fast, his fingers moving through holographic blueprints. “No one’s name is on it, but the tech? It’s too advanced to be independent. Someone with resources is backing this.”

As the team moved deeper into the facility, the walls opened up into a massive manufacturing bay. What they saw stopped them in their tracks. Rows upon rows of massive metallic exoskeletons—war machines designed for underwater combat.

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… a lot of firepower.”

Batman analyzed the frames. “The design is modular.” His gaze sharpened. “They’re meant to be piloted.”

Hal whistled. “Great. So we’re dealing with an army of underwater battle mechs. That’s normal.”

Aquaman gritted his teeth. “This is an invasion force.”

Cyborg flipped through the system’s last logged transmissions. “Whoever built this isn’t here anymore.” His brow furrowed. “Wait. I’ve got something.”

A holographic projection flickered to life, a blueprint detailing an even larger construct.

Superman’s expression hardened as his eyes scanned the design. “That’s not a mech. That’s a warship.”

Batman’s focus sharpened as he took in the details, his analytical mind breaking down the sheer scale of the project. “And it’s already operational.”

Cyborg’s systems interfaced with the base’s database, his fingers flying over the holographic console. “It’s being prepped for deployment.”

Before anyone could move, an alarm blared through the facility. A deep, mechanical voice echoed through the hallways. “Unauthorized presence detected. Lockdown initiated.”

The chamber doors slammed shut with a deafening hiss, the room flooding with red emergency lights. From the shadows, panels in the walls slid open, revealing rows of battle drones and armed soldiers, their weapons humming to life.

Superman tensed. “They knew we were coming.”

The room exploded into chaos as the enemy forces opened fire. Superman moved first, dodging a barrage of energy blasts before launching himself at the nearest group of soldiers. His fists slammed into reinforced armor, sending them crashing into the walls with the force of a small explosion.

Green Lantern’s ring flared, forming a massive shield just in time to intercept a rain of gunfire. “This is why I hate secret underwater bases!” he shouted, before retaliating with a construct in the shape of a giant battering ram, sending drones flying.

Diana charged forward, deflecting energy blasts with her bracelets before sweeping a group of soldiers off their feet with a powerful spin kick. She yanked her lasso free and lashed out, snaring two more and pulling them into a brutal takedown.

Cyborg’s arm morphed into a cannon, unleashing a sonic blast that rippled through the enemy ranks, shorting out several drones in an instant. “I’m locking down their system—buy me some time!”

Aquaman drove his trident into the ground, sending a shockwave of kinetic energy through the metal floor, disrupting the enemies’ footing. He lunged at a heavily armored soldier, using sheer brute force to tear the weapon from his hands before flipping him over his shoulder.

Batman moved through the chaos like a shadow, dodging strikes, breaking limbs, using every ounce of precision and training to dismantle enemies twice his size. He had already counted the exit points, the security overrides, and the fail-safes. But none of it mattered if they didn’t get out.

A low-frequency pulse rippled through the air, sending a sharp, painful vibration through every system. Superman staggered, his strength suddenly faltering. Red solar radiation. The walls were lined with emitters, their power spiking just enough to slow him down.

Cyborg’s systems flickered violently. “My circuits are compromised.”

Diana’s movements grew sluggish, her body reacting to something unnatural in the air. “They’re using… dampeners—”

Green Lantern’s ring flickered, his constructs dissolving. “Oh, hell no.”

The realization hit Batman seconds too late. It was a trap. The enemy wasn’t trying to win a fight. They were trying to capture them and it was working.

A wave of reinforcements flooded into the room, wearing high-tech armor designed specifically for countering each of them. One soldier hurled a shock charge directly at Diana, the electricity coiling around her bracers and locking them in place before dragging her to the floor.

Aquaman lunged forward, but a containment field erupted around him, sealing him in a sphere that sapped his strength and cut off his connection to the water.

Green Lantern tried to reignite his ring, but the energy inhibitors in the air choked his constructs before they could solidify. “Oh, come on—!”

Cyborg’s systems crashed completely, leaving him vulnerable as soldiers forced him down with reinforced restraints. Superman fought through the radiation, trying to stay on his feet, but the sheer force of reinforced blast waves slammed into his chest, sending him to his knees. Batman reached for his last explosive charge, but a shock baton jabbed into his side, sending thousands of volts surging through his body. His muscles locked up for half a second, long enough for three guards to restrain him. Bruce gritted his teeth. He should have seen this coming.

Superman tried to push up, his breath heavy, body weak from the artificial red sun exposure. He lifted his head, forcing his gaze toward Batman. Bruce met his eyes. Neither of them spoke. The room was silent, save for the sound of weapons humming to life, containment fields sealing around them. From the far end of the chamber, a figure stepped forward.

He stopped just short of Superman, looking down at him with an infuriating smirk.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t be ready for you?” he mused, arms crossed. “You’re predictable. That’s the problem with heroes.”

Superman’s jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

His smile didn’t waver. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

He turned toward his men. “Restrain them. Move them to the holding cells.”

The soldiers dragged the League away, one by one. As Batman was pulled toward the exit, he didn’t resist. He was already planning. Because whoever these people were, they had just made the biggest mistake of their lives. They had underestimated him. And that was going to be their downfall.

—-——————

The Justice League had been in worse situations. Maybe.

Superman tested the restraints on his wrists, but they were lined with red solar radiation emitters, sapping his strength. Across from him, Wonder Woman's golden lasso was pinned beneath a high-energy containment field, and Cyborg's systems had been scrambled by an electromagnetic pulse. Batman, ever silent and calculating, sat still in his own bindings, already working through one of a thousand possible escape plans.

Green Lantern, hanging upside down in some kind of gravity-reversing field, muttered, "Okay. New rule. No more deep-sea missions. Ever."

Aquaman, chained to the wall like some kind of medieval prisoner, scowled. "I'm going to rip whoever did this in half."

Superman glanced at Batman. "Ideas?"

Batman's expression was unreadable. "Still assessing."

Hal groaned. "Dude. We got taken down in, like, five minutes."

Cyborg, trying to reboot his systems, grumbled, "To be fair, they had a good ambush plan. And they knew we were coming."

Diana arched a brow. "The question is— who exactly are 'they'?"

Before anyone could answer, the door to the cell hissed open. A group of heavily armed soldiers in black tactical suits stepped inside, their weapons trained on them. Behind them, a man in a sleek, high-tech combat uniform strode forward, his expression smug.

Batman recognized him instantly. Dr. Anton Voss. A former military scientist, Voss had worked in experimental weapons development before going rogue. He was a strategist, a scientist, and a major pain in Batman's ass.

Voss stopped in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. "Well. The great Justice League." He smirked. "I expected better."

Superman narrowed his eyes. "What's your plan, Voss? Sell your tech to the highest bidder?"

Voss chuckled. "No, no, you misunderstand." He gestured to the guards. "I’m not selling. I'm taking."

Diana pulled at her bindings. "You won't succeed."

Voss grinned. "I already have."

BOOM.

An explosion rocked the facility, alarms blaring as red warning lights flashed. One of the guards yelled, "Sir! We have an intruder!"

Voss frowned. "What intruder?"

CRASH.

A vent panel slammed to the floor. All heads turned toward the source. Standing there, in possibly the most ridiculous crime-fighting outfit anyone had ever seen, was Dick Grayson. Dick was perched on a high pipe, grinning way too wide for someone who had just broken into a top-secret underwater base.

"Hey, guys," he said cheerfully. "Hope I'm not interrupting."

The room fell silent.

Superman blinked. "How did you find us?"

Batman's eyes narrowed. "What are you wearing?"

Because, truly, the outfit was something. It was a hodgepodge of anything remotely superhero-like that Dick had clearly thrown together in a rush. A black and red jumpsuit, mismatched gloves, a domino mask that was slightly crooked, and-God help him—a bright yellow cape. The cape billowed dramatically despite the lack of wind, as if the universe itself had decided to commit to the ridiculousness.

Dick pointed finger guns at Batman. "I call it a work in progress."

Hal, still upside down, burst out laughing. "Oh my God. I love him."

Voss, who had been momentarily stunned into silence, finally recovered. He gestured sharply at his men. "Kill the kid."

Dick grinned. "Rude."

Then he threw something, a small smoke bomb, filling the room with a thick, blinding fog. In the confusion, Dick moved fast. He somersaulted off the pipe, landing gracefully before delivering a solid kick to the nearest guard's head.

Superman ripped free of his bindings. With the solar emitters momentarily disrupted by the smoke, his strength surged back. Batman, who had already picked his lock while everyone was distracted, leapt forward and disarmed a soldier in seconds.

Diana caught her lasso as it fell from the deactivated containment field and immediately snared two guards with one fluid motion. Hal flipped upright and created a massive green battering ram, slamming the remaining soldiers into the walls. Aquaman, yanking the chains from the wall, used them to whip another guard unconscious. Cyborg's systems rebooted, and his sonic cannon blasted the last standing enemy straight through the opposite door.

Voss, suddenly realizing he was very much outnumbered, scrambled toward the exit. But before he could escape Dick landed in front of him, hands on his hips. Voss froze.

Dick smirked. "Not so fun when the other guy has backup, huh?"

Voss scowled. "You think you've won?"

Batman loomed behind him. "Yes."

Voss gulped.

Minutes later, the facility's remaining systems were disabled, the weapons files confiscated, and Voss was secured for transport. The League stood together, assessing the situation.

Dick, despite looking ridiculous in his makeshift costume, stood proudly next to Batman, arms crossed.

Hal grinned. "Okay. I take back everything I said about this mission sucking. This was amazing."

Superman smiled at Dick. "Nice work, kid."

Dick beamed. "Thanks, Big Blue."

Batman sighed. "We're talking about this later."

Dick smirked. "Oh, I know."

Hal nudged Barry. "Dude. Batman has a sidekick."

Barry grinned. "And he's fabulous."

Cyborg shook his head. "I've seen some things. But that cape? That cape is a crime."

Dick twirled dramatically. "You're all just jealous."

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's go home."

As they exited the facility, Superman grinned at Bruce. "You're not even mad."

Batman's jaw tightened. "...l will be. Later."

Superman chuckled. "Uh-huh."

Dick, strutting confidently behind them, called out. "By the way, l'm picking my own name. No take-backs."

Batman sighed.

—-——————

The elevator doors hissed open, and Dick stepped out into the Batcave, looking far too pleased with himself. Batman was already there, standing near the Batcomputer, arms crossed, cape draped over one shoulder. His expression was unreadable, which was never a good sign.

Dick had been expecting this conversation. Did that mean he was nervous? No. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly? Still feeling pretty awesome. He had saved the Justice League, which was not a bad first outing.

Bruce didn’t speak right away. Instead, he let the silence settle, heavy and intentional.

Dick exhaled, tilting his head. “So… you mad?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

Dick grinned. “You’re mad.”

Bruce’s voice was low, controlled. “You disobeyed me.”

Dick held up a finger. “Technically, I never agreed to not intervene.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. Okay. Probably not the best way to start.

Dick shifted. “Look, I know you’re mad, but—”

Bruce cut him off. “You could have been killed.”

That shut Dick up fast. Bruce stepped forward, the overhead lighting casting sharp shadows across his face. His voice remained calm, but firm. “You broke into an active enemy facility—without backup, without armor, without a plan.”

Dick’s shoulders stiffened. “I had a plan.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change.

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t the best plan,” Dick admitted. “But it worked!”

Bruce exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That is not the point.”

Dick shifted on his feet. The thing was, he knew Bruce wasn’t wrong, but Bruce also wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. So Dick did something he knew would throw him off.

He dropped the grinning, cocky act and looked Bruce dead in the eye. “You told me I wasn’t alone.”

Bruce’s breath hitched.

Dick took a step forward. “You think if you keep people at a distance, you won’t lose them, but that’s not how this works.”

Bruce remained silent.

Dick’s voice softened. “I’m not trying to replace them, Bruce. I know I never can.”

Bruce’s fists tightened slightly. Dick didn’t need to say who he meant. Bruce already knew.

“But you took me in,” Dick continued. “You didn’t have to, but you did. And now you’re telling me to sit back while you do this alone?” He shook his head. “That’s not fair.”

Bruce looked away. Dick could tell he was fighting an internal battle. A part of Bruce wanted to push him away. To keep him safe. But another part—the part he never admitted existed—wanted him to stay. Finally, Bruce exhaled, stepping past him toward the workshop station.

Dick frowned. “What are you—”

A moment later, Bruce placed something small and black onto the table. Dick blinked. It was a domino mask.

Bruce’s voice was quiet, but weighted with meaning. “If you’re going to keep doing this… you do it my way.”

Dick’s eyes widened.

Bruce finally met his gaze. “I design your costume.”

Dick grinned. “That’s your only complaint?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. “You get one rule. You follow it.”

Dick nodded, serious now. “What is it?”

Bruce held his gaze. “No killing.”

Dick didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then Bruce nodded. Dick felt something shift between them. This wasn’t just guardian and ward anymore, this was partnership.

Chapter Text

The Wayne Foundation Gala was one of Gotham’s most prestigious annual events, an evening of opulence, whispered deals, and carefully orchestrated performances of wealth and power. The ballroom, housed in one of Wayne Tower’s upper floors, gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers, their light reflecting off polished marble floors and walls adorned with art worth more than most people made in a lifetime. The air smelled of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and money—lots of it.

Bruce Wayne had attended countless galas in his life, each one a tedious necessity, a carefully maintained persona designed to throw off suspicion, but tonight was different. Tonight, people weren’t whispering about Wayne Enterprises’ latest business venture or speculating on his political affiliations. Tonight, the entire room had its attention locked onto one thing: the man standing at his side.

Clark Kent walked beside Bruce with the easy confidence of someone utterly unfazed by Gotham’s elite, his presence an undeniable shift in the usual landscape of these events. Unlike most of the attendees, Clark had never cared for excess or social maneuvering, yet he carried himself with an understated grace that made him look like he belonged. He had opted for a sleek black tuxedo, nothing flashy but impeccably tailored, Bruce had convinced him that an ill-fitting suit would just bring more attention.

The moment they stepped into the main hall, conversations around them faltered. Eyes followed their every move. Bruce had expected as much. He had spent a lifetime at the center of Gotham’s social scene, but Clark was a new variable, an unexpected twist in the narrative. The press had been buzzing for weeks about his relationship with Metropolis’s most respected reporter, and speculation had reached a fever pitch once their attendance at the gala had been confirmed.

Bruce maintained an air of unaffected ease as they moved through the crowd, offering nods and brief exchanges where required. Clark, for his part, played along with a casual charm that left people either impressed or entirely disarmed. His presence was a contrast to Bruce’s usual parade of supermodels and fleeting romantic scandals, and it wasn’t long before the evening’s whispers evolved from polite curiosity to genuine intrigue.

As they neared the bar, Clark leaned in slightly, his voice just low enough for Bruce to hear. “You know, I think they’re still waiting for me to be some kind of publicity stunt.”

Bruce smirked, taking a glass of bourbon from the bartender. “Let them wait. They’ll figure out the truth soon enough.”

Clark chuckled, accepting a glass of wine he likely had no intention of drinking. “I think some of them are panicking about what this means for your reputation.”

Bruce sipped his drink. “My reputation is whatever I decide it is.” He glanced around, noting the subtle way people still kept stealing glances, trying to assess whether this was a calculated move or something real. Turning back to Clark, he arched a brow. “How are you holding up?”

Clark gave a small, amused smile. “I deal with alien invasions and diplomatic crises. This is nothing.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You don’t have to put on a front.”

Clark exhaled, glancing briefly at the crowd before returning his attention to Bruce. “It’s not a front. I knew what I was signing up for.” He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dipping lower. “But I will say, this whole billionaire socialite thing is hilarious up close.”

Bruce huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ve spent years perfecting the illusion.”

For the briefest moment, the noise of the gala faded into the background. The room still swirled with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but Bruce found himself focused only on the warmth in Clark’s eyes, the steadiness of his presence. It wasn’t often that someone could see through the layers of misdirection and carefully curated masks, but Clark had always been different. He had never needed to be fooled by Bruce Wayne’s performance, and he had never been intimidated by the reality of Batman.

Before either of them could say anything more, an approaching voice shattered the moment. “Bruce, darling,” came the smooth, knowing tone of Selina Kyle.

Bruce turned, unsurprised to see her standing there in a shimmering black gown, the smirk on her lips nothing short of amused. She held a champagne flute in one hand, her other elegantly resting on her hip as she gave Clark a slow, appraising glance. “And here I thought you’d finally run out of surprises.”

Clark extended a hand. “Clark Kent.”

Selina accepted the handshake, her grin widening. “Oh, I know who you are.” She glanced between them, her green eyes dancing with mischief. “I have to say, Bruce, I approve. He’s definitely an upgrade from the usual.”

Bruce sighed. “Are you here to cause trouble?”

Selina took a sip of her drink, shrugging one shoulder. “Me? Never. Just making sure you’re still interesting.” She winked at Clark. “So far, you are.”

Clark chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Selina lingered for another moment before slipping back into the crowd, leaving behind a trace of amusement in her wake. Clark watched her go before turning back to Bruce. “She’s something.”

Bruce exhaled. “You have no idea.”

Clark smirked, stepping a little closer. “So, now that we’ve made a scene, what’s next?”

Bruce glanced around the room, noting the reporters subtly trying to snap pictures without drawing attention. He met Clark’s gaze, voice level. “That depends.”

Clark arched a brow. “On?”

Bruce set down his glass, his lips barely curving into a smirk. “How much of a scene do you want to make?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “You really do like proving a point, don’t you?”

Bruce gave a small shrug. “I don’t mind giving them something to talk about.”

Clark glanced at the crowd, then back at Bruce. “How about this—we stay just long enough to make our presence known, and then we leave before anyone tries to corner us with tabloid questions.”

Bruce tilted his head. “Efficient.”

Clark smirked. “I learn from the best.”

They lingered just long enough for the message to settle. Bruce Wayne was not making a spectacle of a new relationship, nor was he dismissing it as something fleeting. This wasn’t a calculated PR move or a brief affair. This was real. And Gotham, whether it liked it or not, would have to accept that.

—-——————

The gala had been a spectacle, as expected. The moment Bruce and Clark had walked in together, Gotham’s elite had practically stopped breathing, whispering behind their champagne flutes, watching every move they made. Bruce had endured it all with the same cool detachment he always carried at these events, while Clark had played his part perfectly—charming, polite, just out of place enough to remind everyone that he didn’t belong to their world.

Now, however, the night belonged to them.

Bruce guided the sleek black Aston Martin through Gotham’s streets, the city still alive despite the late hour. The farther they got from the towering skyscrapers and polished storefronts, the more the real Gotham emerged, small businesses still open, neon signs flickering, people moving in the cool night air without the weight of expectation pressing on their shoulders.

Clark stretched slightly in his seat, finally undoing the top button of his shirt. “You know, I think I set a personal record for hearing my name mispronounced tonight.”

Bruce smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. “‘Clark Kent, investigative journalist,’ said with an undertone of ‘who the hell is that?’”

Clark chuckled. “That, and a lot of ‘Metropolis reporter’ like I’m some random guy you picked up for fun. Someone even asked if I was an actor.”

Bruce hummed. “You do have the face for it.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re the billionaire playboy.”

Bruce took a slow turn, the car sliding into a quieter street where the glow of a classic neon diner sign flickered just ahead. “Not anymore, apparently.”

Clark gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh? Hanging up the act for good?”

Bruce exhaled, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Clark didn’t press, but he smiled to himself. A moment later, Bruce pulled into a small parking lot, stopping in front of a 24-hour burger joint that looked like it had been standing in the same spot since Gotham was founded. A large, cartoonish sign blinked above the entrance: BIG BELLY BURGER – EST. 1974.

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re seriously telling me that Bruce Wayne, a man worth billions, is taking me to a diner with a mascot shaped like a giant hamburger?”

Bruce shut off the engine, arching a brow. “Do you want food or not?”

Clark grinned. “Oh, I’m not complaining.”

They stepped inside, the warm scent of grilled meat, toasted buns, and frying oil filling the air. The floors were checkered black and white, the booths made of worn red leather, and an old jukebox in the corner hummed faintly. It was exactly the kind of place Clark loved.

A few late-night customers were scattered around, mostly truckers and night-shift workers, none of whom seemed to care that Gotham’s most famous CEO had just walked in. The tired waitress behind the counter barely glanced up before popping her gum and handing them menus.

“What can I get you?” she asked, unimpressed, as she wiped the counter with a rag.

Bruce didn’t even look at the menu. “Double cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla shake.”

Clark blinked, amused. “You have an order ready to go?”

Bruce shot him a look. “I’m not a stranger to real food.”

Clark smirked before turning to the waitress. “Same, but chocolate shake.”

She nodded and disappeared into the back. They slid into a corner booth, the vinyl seats creaking under them. The atmosphere was so different from the gala that it felt almost surreal, no flashing cameras, no overanalyzing whispers, just the soft chatter of the city’s actual residents enjoying a late meal.

Clark leaned back against the booth, stretching one arm over the backrest. “So, does this count as our second date, or is it still part of the first one?”

Bruce considered that for a moment. “That depends.”

Clark arched a brow. “On?”

Bruce smirked slightly. “Do you think the burgers will be better than the gala’s appetizers?”

Clark grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

The shakes arrived first, set down with zero fanfare, which only made Clark like this place more. He took a sip of his and sighed contentedly.

Bruce watched him, amusement flickering in his expression. “That good?”

Clark nodded. “You know, if your goal was to impress me tonight, the fancy event wasn’t necessary. You could’ve just brought me here, and I’d be yours forever.”

Bruce tilted his head, smirking. “Noted.”