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It all started when Barry and Hal decided the Justice League needed official channels to “connect with the public.” Bruce was, unsurprisingly, vehemently opposed to the idea. He was also one of the few members (aside from maybe Oliver Queen) who actually understood how much time and effort it took to maintain even one social media account—let alone three.
But, as usual, democracy was a mistake.
Bruce was outvoted.
The League launched three official platforms: Chirp for professional updates, like evacuation alerts and coordinated response efforts. Snapgram for outreach photos, event promotions, and curated community content. FlashFeed for short videos, PSAs, and the occasional Q&A or challenge.
Any League member could use the official accounts to post updates from their own city, highlight charity events, or even answer a few fan questions to “remind the public that heroes are people too.” Participation was voluntary. Very voluntary, Bruce made sure of that.
He did however give a very thorough and mandatory “What Not to Post” presentation before all their socials went live. No personal details. No Watchtower tours. No League-wide ops discussed before clearance. And for the love of god, no livestreams. (He was overruled on that one, but they were “strongly discouraged.”)
Surprisingly, the first few months went well.
The posts got decent engagement. The League’s approval ratings hit new highs. City-led events with hero appearances saw a measurable increase in turnout. Even Bruce had to admit—begrudgingly, internally, and under no circumstances out loud—that the whole thing might’ve actually been a good idea.
And then it happened.
The first viral video.
It was posted by Hal late one evening, mostly out of boredom and spite because Bruce had pissed him off at the latest League meeting. Also, the spooky bastard was the only founding member who hadn’t made their debut in any of the accounts.
Shot in the Watchtower mess hall, the video was innocuous enough and followed all major guidelines. Just a short clip of Batman and Superman in what looked like a pretty intense argument. Superman was gesturing wildly with his hands. Batman sat across from him, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
“Dominic was just misunderstood!” Superman insisted, eyes lit up like he was making a case in front of a jury.
“No, he wasn’t,” Bruce countered flatly. “He was in the wrong. He nearly destroyed the city because he refused to trust anyone.”
The clip then cut to Hal, filming himself with a tired expression and a sandwich halfway to his mouth.
“For context: they’ve been having this same argument about a single Gray Ghost episode for the last five years. That I know of. And I’m pretty sure they knew each other before the League even formed so who knows how long it really has been.”
The caption read: “They argue like an old married couple. #HeyGreenLanternHere #MomAndDadAreFighting #Superman #Batman #GrayGhost #JusticeLeague”
He didn’t think about it again until the next morning, when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing and clearly tried to kill itself by falling off his bedside table. When he finally opened his phone he had a text from Barry that just said: “YOU JUST BROKE THE INTERNET!!”
Hal was confused until he realized one of his videos must have gone viral. Then he was smug.
He figured maybe the video hit a million views or something. Good engagement, solid FlashFeed traction. PR would love it.
His post from last night on FlashFeed had over 22 million views.
And the comments? Unhinged.
— Wait they’re like... married married??
— This is the gayest argument I’ve ever seen, thank you for your service, Lantern.
— Superbat rights!!!!
— THEY WATCH THE GRAY GHOST TOGETHER????
— They’re clearly in love and no one’s telling them.
— Fellas, is it gay to discuss the same episode for over five years with the same man??
And then—there it was, like a spark in dry grass: #Superbat
At first it was just one user, a cheeky combo of their names under a meme captioned “Superbat: World’s Finest.” But by the time Hal scrolled two pages down, everyone was using it. Fan art exploded within hours. Someone edited a dramatic montage of Batman and Superman team-ups over a Taylor Swift song. A parody fan account popped up pretending to be their wedding planner. People were debating which one was the “mom” in #MomAndDadAreFighting.
One user compiled every recorded moment of Batman and Superman having what looked like spousal arguments—on the Justice League team-ups, during press conferences, in the background of other heroes’ videos—and titled it: “Proof That Superman and Batman Have Been Married for almost a decade (w/ sources).”
It had over 2 million likes.
Hal stared at his screen. Then stared at the blank wall in front of him. Then stared at the Justice League DM requests tab that was flooded with messages like:
— PLEASE drop more Superbat content, we’re starving.
— I need them arguing about groceries next. Or like, taxes.
— Does Superman call him ‘babe’? Do they cuddle in the Watchtower? Give us crumbs, Lantern!
Hal, now deeply afraid of his own actions, opened his text chain with Barry:
8:14 AM
— Barry, what do I do?
Barry, 8:14 AM
— About what?
8:15 AM
— What do you mean about what?
— You were the one who told me I broke the internet!!
— I accidentally made everyone and their grandma ship Bruce and Clark
— They have a ship name and everything!!Barry, 8:16 AM
— Oh right
— #Superbat
— Yeah, it has been trending all morning
— Someone made a cake of their faces it looked good8:17 AM
— Bruce is going to kill me
Barry, 8:17 AM
— I actually think you’re safe unless someone opens their mouth
— Bruce was hellbent on staying away from the social media accounts
— I heard him say something about thirst traps of himself and his oldest kids once
— Honestly I don’t wanna know
— He also said Oracle created a script that takes down posts that go against his set guidelines so this post doesn’t go against any8:19 AM
— Barry please remember who we work with
— Of course someone will tell Spooky!
— And even if no one does then Clark will
— Honestly, I’m quite afraid of farm boy too…Barry, 8:20 AM
— Clark barely uses the accounts either
— He only posts when there’s events in Metropolis and he mostly uses Snapgram
— We can keep this from them
— They’re both oblivious8:21 AM
— I mean… It’s been over five years and they’re still just friends
— I guess you’re rightBarry, 8:21
— Of course I am!
Later that day, despite his talk with Barry, Hal considered taking the post down, but it was far too late. The momentum was unstoppable.
FlashFeed was flooded. Fan pages were archiving every moment Superman and Batman had ever stood next to each other, quoted each other, or glanced in each other’s direction. Someone had posted a seven-minute compilation of their team-ups set to emotional music. A fashion blog had done a deep dive into their “complimentary color palettes” and what their “couple style” said about them psychologically.
And then, somewhere in the endless scroll, Hal saw it: “God, no wonder they act like this. They’re so married and just too dumb to realize it.”
Hal stared at the comment.
Paused.
Then slowly turned to look across the Watchtower meeting room, where Bruce and Clark were reviewing reports—leaning in close, bickering softly about tactical phrasing like they hadn’t just accidentally set half the internet on fire. And apparently none the wiser.
That’s when it hit him.
He hadn’t caused a scandal.
He’d created an opportunity.
It wasn’t just the internet who saw it. The rest of the League had been watching these two dance around each other for years—the unresolved tension, the lingering glances, the absurdly detailed knowledge of each other’s lives, the arguments that were basically foreplay if you tilted your head and squinted.
And now? Hal had a tool.
Proof. Footage. A whole public movement they could hide behind.
He didn’t need to delete the post.
He needed to feed the flames.
And so, a quiet, unspoken plan formed—shared through side-eyes, nudges, and knowing smirks between League members. They didn’t say it out loud. But suddenly, the Justice League’s FlashFeed started posting a few… interesting videos and just let the internet run with it.
Posted on FlashFeed by Green Lantern. Caption: “I’ve never seen Superman this judgmental. #HeyGreenLanternHere #Batman #Superman #OatMilkDiplomacy”
The video opens in the League mess hall. Batman is drinking his usual black coffee. Superman walks in, takes one look at the mug, and says, scandalized:
“I still can’t believe you drink that willingly.”
“I’m not the one who needs three sugars and almond milk foam,” Batman replies.
“It’s oat milk,” Superman says, clearly offended. “It’s more sustainable.”
A pause. A long, weighted look.
Batman relents. “Fine. Oat milk.”
Then, from behind the camera, Green Lantern is heard, “Am I interrupting something or...?”
Top comments:
— Why is this flirty?
— Oat milk diplomacy: the final step before marriage.
— Superman’s tone when he said ‘It’s more sustainable’ had the same energy as a husband trying to get his grumpy partner to recycle.
— I’ve read slow-burn romances that were less loaded than this conversation.
— My OTP: fighting about coffee, finding common ground, saving the world.
Posted on FlashFeed by Flash. Caption: “Justice League Book Club Thursdays. #HeyFlashHere #Batman #Superman #JusticeReads”
The video shows Superman holding a worn paperback.
“Why’d you ask me to bring you this one? I thought you’d already read it.”
“I like the structure,” Batman replies.
Superman grins. “Or you like the ending.”
Batman glances up. “Same difference.”
Superman’s expression softens in a way that makes Flash, behind the camera, audibly go, “Awwww.”
Top comments:
— Did anyone else notice that Superman’s holding it like he was just reading it to him??
— Book club for two. No one else allowed.
— The structure?? BRO JUST SAY YOU LOVE THE ENDING WHERE THE COUPLE GETS TOGETHER.
— My cat looks at my girlfriend the way Batman looks at that paperback.
Fan-captured screen recording of a Wonder Woman FlashFeed livestream. Caption: “OMG I can’t believe she actually got both of them on camera live and asked them this question jdhkasjfg do you think she used her lasso? What a Queen! #Superbat #WonderWoman #Batman #Superman #JusticeLeagueQ&A”
Wonder Woman walks into the Watchtower common room, filming with the rear camera. Batman and Superman are seated side by side on the couch—Superman reading a book, Batman scrolling through a datapad.
“And now,” Diana announces, “one question from the comments for my favorite teammates.”
Superman smiles brightly. “We’re your favorite teammates?”
“We’re not called the Trinity for nothing,” she teases.
Batman doesn’t look up. “Just ask your question and go.”
She laughs. “Love you too.”
“Okay—who’s the League member you trust most on the field?”
Superman answers without hesitation. “Batman.”
Batman replies at the exact same time: “Superman. He’s competent.”
Superman laughs. “That’s high praise coming from him.”
Batman doesn’t respond. But if you pause the video at just the right frame, there’s the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Top comments:
— The Bat-equivalent of ‘I love you’ is apparently a performance review.
— THAT SMIRK. ENHANCE. ENHANCE.
— Tell me you’re in love with your emotionally constipated coworker without telling me.
— Superman’s little smile after. He understood the assignment.
— Wonder Woman asked that question on purpose. She KNEW what their answers would be.
— This is the love language of men who refuse to talk about their feelings.
— So we all agree they’re married except for them, right?
Posted on FlashFeed by Green Lantern, by accident. Or so Green Lantern claims. Caption: “Uh. I thought I deleted this. Oops. #ComingBackHome”
The video opens inside the Javelin mid-flight after a long mission off-world.
Superman is half-asleep in his seat, head tilted toward the window, visibly exhausted. A thin blanket has slipped halfway down his chest.
Next to him, Batman sits in full gear, reading a datapad. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t say a word.
He just reaches out—absently, instinctively—and tugs the blanket back up over Superman’s shoulders.
There’s no sound. No acknowledgment. Just quiet care.
Top comments:
— I’ve watched this 42 times and I cry harder each time.
— You’re telling me BATMAN tucked him in???
— He watched the blanket slip and fixed it. This is care. This is devotion. This is marriage.
— I want someone to love me like Batman loves pretending he doesn’t love Superman.
— Someone add sad piano music to this. I want to die.
Posted to FlashFeed by Flash and Black Canary. Caption: “We really thought it was happening. Our hearts can’t take this so we’re making you suffer with us. #HeyFlashHere #HeyBlackCanaryHere #AlmostProposal #LeagueInduction"
It starts off innocently enough—just a short clip from the Watchtower’s latest team celebration, meant to welcome the newest League inductee. The music is faint, the lighting warm, and most of the heroes are off-camera, milling around with drinks or chatting in clusters.
Then the camera turns toward the window.
Superman and Batman stand side by side, silhouetted against the curve of the Earth. Batman is talking, gesturing lightly with one hand. Superman chuckles at something he says, then reaches beneath his cape and pulls out a small black box.
The camera zooms in like it is tracking a diplomatic incident.
Off-screen, Flash can be heard whispering in disbelief. “Is that—?!”
“No way,” Canary mutters beside him. “No way!”
Superman opens the box.
Inside: a comm device. Sleek. Not League standard. Definitely one of Batman’s custom builds.
Batman takes it with a nod and tucks it away. Superman smiles like he’d just handed over a wedding ring. Then they go right back to talking, completely oblivious to the two devastated onlookers behind the camera.
The clip ends with Flash flipping the camera to their faces. Both of them look like they’ve been through an emotional rollercoaster.
“I have never known betrayal like this,” Flash says, deadpan.
“I was already crying,” Canary adds.
Top Comments:
— I WAS ON MY KNEES IN FRONT OF MY SCREEN.
— My neighbors heard me scream and now I have to move.
— Can you IMAGINE if this was how they came out?? A COMM DEVICE??
— They did this ON PURPOSE. This was targeted harassment.
— This is violence. Emotional, psychological, romantic violence.
Snapgram post by Wonder Woman and reposted by a fan. Caption: “Boys and their bruises. #Superbat #Couplegoals”
It’s a carrossel post. The first photo it’s the actual one Wonder Woman shared: a casual photo after a mission—Batman and Superman both have nearly identical bruises across their jaws even though Superman’s is already starting to fade. They’re standing close, discussing something along with other Justice League members but they’re clearly the focus of the photo. In the second photo the fan has zoomed in on their faces and circled the bruises in red with a note: “Symmetry goals.”
(This post was shared in the official Justice League account’s stories before being taken down five minutes later.)
Top comments:
— Nothing says couple goals like synchronized battle damage.
— They bled together. It’s canon now.
— You mean to tell me they got hurt in sync and didn’t even notice?
— The official Justice League account shared this and then deleted it?!? What does this mean???
Fan-created thread posted to Chirp. Caption: “Every time Superman lowers his voice just for Batman. #Superbat”
Clips from interviews, UN speeches, and news reports. Superman’s voice shifts mid-sentence whenever Batman enters the frame. Smoother. Softer. Slightly amused.
A fan favorite: Superman saying “We wouldn’t have made it without Batman.” The way he says “Batman” gets replayed four times in one of the clips at four different speeds to emphasize the difference in speech softness.
Top Comments:
— WHY did he say his name like a prayer???
— That’s not a voice drop. That’s a romantic frequency.
— My therapist says this is healthy projection. I say it’s Superbat canon.
— Lex Luthor’s blood pressure spiked every time Superman said Batman’s name like that.
VidTube conspiracy video. Title: “Batman reacts to Superman’s name before it’s even said. #Superbat #ReactionTheory #BatRadar”
A compilation edit that zooms in on Batman’s facial twitches every time Superman is mentioned in interviews or news reports—before his name is actually spoken.
A timer runs in the corner: “0.5 sec flinch. 1.3 sec shift. This man is anticipating.”
Top Comments:
— You mean to tell me Batman has a Superman sense??
— He can feel when his crush is mentioned. That’s witchcraft.
— This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen and also I need a restraining order against myself.
— It would be cute if his suit ears twitch like a cat.
— Every time someone says ‘hope,’ Batman visibly braces. Sir, you are in deep.
The past couple of months had been weird.
Lois kept making teasing comments she refused to explain. Most of the Justice League seemed in on some private joke that excluded only him and Bruce.
Clark had finally brought it up, hoping Bruce might know more.
“Aren’t you curious?” he asked.
“It’s improving team morale and not interfering with League business,” Bruce replied without looking up, elbows-deep in the dismantled circuitry of an alien robot they'd hauled back from their latest off-world mission. “As long as no one bothers me, I don't care.”
“It feels a little mean, leaving the two of us out,” Clark said, pointedly not pouting.
That earned him a glance. Bruce didn’t sigh—but he did pause in his work.
“I truly don't know what it's about,” Bruce said. “When it started, I asked Oracle about it. She said it had something to do with the League's official social media accounts. Some sort of challenge, probably. My kids are always trying to drag me into their FlashFeed nonsense. But if you’re that curious you can always just ask one of them or look into it yourself. You have access to all the accounts.”
Clark relaxed a little. “Oh. If it’s just that, I don’t mind missing out. I don’t care much for social media. I already spend enough time on both sides of the media—as someone being reported on and as someone doing the reporting. The last thing I want is to curate some extra version of myself online. I don’t need to add filters and hashtags to the mix. I only just post on Snapgram as Superman for Metropolis events. Like you do as Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce nodded and returned to the robot’s innards, Clark’s concern apparently dismissed.
And it would’ve stayed that way—until two days later, when Clark got a call from his mother.
Clark had barely taken one sip of his morning coffee when his phone buzzed with a call from Ma. He smiled instinctively and answered without hesitation, expecting her usual early check-in and weather update from Smallville.
“Morning, Ma.”
There was a pause—longer than usual. And then Martha spoke, gentle but serious.
“Clark… are you embarrassed of your father and me?”
Clark blinked. “What? No! Why would you—what are you talking about?”
“Well,” she said, with that kind of motherly patience that meant she’d been holding something in for a while, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to bring Bruce around anymore. Which, of course, is fine if something happened. But I guess I was just surprised. I mean, you’ve been together for months now, haven’t you?”
Clark nearly dropped his coffee. “What?!”
“You and Bruce,” she said simply. “I know we’ve met him before—he’s been coming around for years, and he’s always been very sweet to us, even if he does pretend he’s made of stone. But I thought that now that it’s official, maybe we’d get a call or—at least a photo. Something.”
“Ma,” Clark said slowly, carefully, “Bruce and I aren’t dating.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“…You’re not?”
“No!”
“Well,” Martha said, voice tight with disbelief, “you might want to let the rest of the world know that.”
Clark stared at the counter, then pushed his mug away before he dropped it for real. “Okay, wait, what do you mean? Why would anyone think—”
“I’m on the internet, Clark,” she cut in. “Kara and Kon put all those apps on my phone. Snapgram, FlashFeed and the likes. I use them mostly to keep up with what Diana’s doing—she gives good book recommendations—but then I kept seeing clips of you and Bruce. You bring him coffee, he glowers at you like he’s trying not to smile, and everyone online seems to think you two are—well. A thing.”
Clark groaned. “We’re not a thing.”
“Well you look like a thing,” she snapped. “There are compilations. Whole videos. Someone did a dramatic montage set to Celine Dion.”
“I don’t—Celine Dion?!”
“I saved it,” she said. “It was beautifully edited. There’s a part where you’re shielding Bruce from debris during a battle and it goes into slow motion— slow motion, Clark—and then it cuts to him standing at your side like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.”
Clark groaned and dropped his head into one hand. “Ma…”
“And there’s another where you’re both in the background of one of Green Lantern's livestreams—just standing there, side by side, like you’re built from the same piece of sky. Your father watched it and said, ‘Well, I guess it’s about time.’”
“We’re not dating!”
“I know that now,” she said, clearly frustrated. “But Clark, we’ve known Bruce for years. He’s been coming to the farm since you built the League. He helped mend the fence last summer. He plays chess with your father like it’s a Cold War summit. He came by to hand feed the chickens last year because you were in space for longer than expected and said it’d make you feel better to know someone was keeping up your routine. He stayed overnight during Christmas, Clark. He brought most of his kids and Alfred.”
Clark was still reeling. “He did stay for Christmas…”
“And the way you look at him,” she added softly, “it’s not how you look at anyone else. You shine like the sun after tornado season. I don’t know if he sees it. I don’t know if you do. But the rest of us? Your father and I have been waiting for you to figure it out since the moment he patched you up and then threatened to kill you if you ever got shot with a kryptonite bullet ever again.”
Clark groaned, full-body. “This is too much.”
“Oh, and before I forget,” Martha said brightly, as if she hadn’t just cracked open his emotional foundations, “I’ll send you some of my favorite videos. I know how now. Kara showed me the little paper plane button. You’ll love them.”
Clark was too stunned to argue. “Thanks, Ma.”
“And next time you come visit,” she added, “bring Bruce. Dating or not, I miss him.”
Clark hung up and just sat there for a moment, processing.
Then, slowly, a memory drifted in. Lois casually asking over lunch: “Hey, if you were dating Batman—purely hypothetical—would he let you wear the cape?”
And then, last week, she'd played that moody acoustic cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” on the office speaker just as Clark got off a call with Bruce.
She’d been hinting.
He opened the League’s FlashFeed account for the first time since they created it with shaking hands. The first video on their For You feed was titled:
“100 Times Superman Looked at Batman Like He Hung the Stars (and 1 Time Batman Looked Back)”
Clark clicked play.
It was going to be a very long morning.
It started as a routine check-in. Bruce was in the Cave reviewing intel from the latest Gotham mission, silently hunched over the Batcomputer. The screens glowed with data: threat analysis, Watchtower logs, Gotham crime fluctuations.
Then his earpiece crackled.
“Evening, B,” Barbara’s voice came in dry as ever. “System diagnostics are clean. No breaches since the last patch.”
“Good,” Bruce replied, typing without looking up. “Anything else?”
A pause.
“Well, now that you mention it,” Oracle said, feigning casualness that Bruce immediately clocked as suspicious, “League engagement stats are up. Across the board. Like... a lot. And they have been for a couple of months now.”
Bruce frowned. “Engagement?”
“Social media,” she clarified, amused. “Chirp. Snapgram. FlashFeed. You know, the accounts you begrudgingly allowed because democracy is hard.”
Bruce’s typing slowed. “I haven’t reviewed any of that data since the first couple of months after I asked you to take over the analysis.”
“I know,” she said. “But I thought you might want to be aware. There’s a trend that’s... kind of taken off.”
Another pause.
“A trend?”
“Mhm.”
“…What kind of trend?”
He already had a sinking suspicion that this trend somehow involved him, and a certain Kryptonian. And that was why the two of them had mysteriously not been looped into this.
Barbara’s grin was practically audible through the comms and that didn’t bode well in his favour. “Well, you know how the public can get a little… creative when it comes to interpreting body language? Background interactions? Meaningful glances across a battlefield?”
Bruce straightened. “Spit it out, Oracle.”
She didn’t.
Instead, a soft ping announced an incoming file. One of his monitors blinked to life with a VidTube link titled:
“You Can’t Convince Me They’re Not Married | Superman & Batman Moments (Compilation)”
Posted by user: Lantern4Life
Views: 22.8M
#Superbat #MomAndDad #EmotionalSupportKryptonian #JusticeLeague
Bruce watched in silent horror as the clip began.
It was him and Superman—Clark—standing side by side during a post-battle debrief with the press. Superman reached out, brushed dust off Batman’s shoulder. Batman turned slightly. They held eye contact. Then cut to black.
The next clip was from the Watchtower mess hall. Superman wordlessly handed him a second cup of coffee. Their hands brushed. Cue soft music. Similar clips followed and after that comments flooded the screen:
— Tell me they’re not in love. I dare you.
— The BAT blushed. I saw it.
— Superman is so whipped it’s embarrassing.
— It’s the coffee for me.
— Somebody write the wedding vows already.
— This is better than any romcom I’ve seen.
He closed it and unprompted a FlashFeed video appeared on the screen, The video played immediately. Dramatic piano. Faded black background. White text: “20 Times Batman Forgot the World Existed When Superman Walked Into the Room”
His eye twitched.
He tried to close it. A new one opened.
Then another.
Each featured new clips, new edits, and commentary that nearly made him go cross-eyed. He didn’t see much but he saw enough: Superman stepping onto the Watchtower deck in what seemed to be an cropped Arrow Q&A video. Bruce glancing up, nodding, then slowly, subtly adjusting his stance.
Cut to: A mission in Coast City—Superman crash-lands, injured. Batman’s sprint toward him is slowed down.
Then: The two of them speaking quietly, shoulder-to-shoulder, in the background of a Flash’s video, unaware of the camera's rolling.
Soft lighting. Fade to black: “Love is stored in the tactical stare.”
Bruce managed to close the last window and just… sat there. Breathing. Staring at the Batcomputer’s blank desktop.
“Oracle,” he said, voice even.
“Yes, B?”
“Where did this start?”
“Hal,” she said sweetly. “But it’s not his fault. He uploaded the first video, but he didn’t use the Superbat hashtag. The internet decided you two were soulmates all on its own. I think Clark taking a bullet for you in slow-motion really sealed it.”
“I’m shutting this down.”
“I wouldn’t,” Barbara replied. “PR says public trust in the League’s emotional transparency has never been higher.”
“I don’t care.”
“Don’t be dramatic. So you’ve been accidentally pining in 4K for months. It happens.”
“…He doesn’t know about this, does he?”
That was Bruce’s only hope. Maybe, maybe, while the world had seen his feelings dissected in high resolution, Clark himself was still blissfully unaware.
“Oh,” Barbara said, sounding very entertained now. “Kara told me Clark found out yesterday. His mom called him asking him why he hadn’t brought you by the farm yet if it was finally official that you two were dating.”
Bruce said nothing. But his heart was pounding—and he had the absurd thought that he should probably slow it down unless he wanted a worried Kryptonian breaking through the front door again to check on him.
“And… do the boys know?”
They probably did. They just hadn’t said anything. Apparently the entire planet was in on the joke, and Martha Kent had simply decided she was done waiting.
“Of course,” Barbara laughed. “Dick is outraged that Hal is getting all the credit. Says he’s the OG shipper. Claims he’s been campaigning for Clark to be his stepdad since he was nine. Jason is thrilled that his old Superbat fanfiction is trending again—and his new stuff is getting rave reviews. They’re your biggest supporters. The rest are happy for you too… except Damian, who still held out hope you’d end up with his mother. But even he got sucked in by the videos. Tim and Steph found fanart in his room.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Oracle chirped. “Just letting you know you’re trending. #SuperbatKiss20XX is the current goal. FYI. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ve found some very interesting fanfiction I want to check out.”
The comms went silent.
Bruce sat still for a long time. Then opened an incognito tab. (Not because he didn’t know how to clear his history—he just didn't want to risk Alfred seeing anything.)
He started with the basics: “Superbat meaning”
That yielded thousands of results, most of them... unhelpfully enthusiastic. Fan-made logos. Edits of him and Superman mid-battle posed like romance novel covers. A thread titled “Why Batman is the Ultimate Tsundere” with 16,000 upvotes.
He rubbed his temple.
Next search: “Superbat original post”
The result was Hal’s original post with the “They argue like an old married couple” caption. 12 million likes. Hundreds of quote reposts calling them “canon” and “endgame.”
Fine. He kept going.
Superbat fan edits
Superbat fanfiction
Superbat analysis videos
Superbat timeline
Are Batman and Superman secretly dating? (He was just curious how far this had gone.)
The results were terrifying.
One Snapgram post had a side-by-side of his utility belt next to a Superman logo thermos with the caption: “He brings him coffee. Every. Day. Let me dream.” He did bring Clark coffee when they were in the Watchtower. They were friends and it was a considerate thing to do when he knew Clark always arrived at the nick of time to their meeting due to his job at the Daily Planet. He didn’t mean for it to look romantic.
Another post broke down his suit modifications during cold-weather missions, zooming in to show that the reinforced lining was... red and blue—“He wears Superman’s colors on purpose.”—No, he didn’t. He’d been low on materials.
Someone had written an entire blog analyzing their combat synchronicity. There was a graph. A graph measuring “emotional tension in battle proximity,” comparing how close Batman stood to Superman versus anyone else.
(Spoiler: Superman won. By miles.)
He clicked on one of the links labeled “meta.” That was a mistake.
— Batman doesn’t deny affection—he redirects it. Every time Superman places a hand on his shoulder, Batman leans in. Every time Superman smiles at him, Batman stiffens but doesn’t pull away. They orbit each other. They gravitate.
He clicked out of it. Then immediately clicked back in.
He moved on to FlashFeed, scanning hashtags:
#Superbat
#MomAndDad
#JusticeLeaguePowerCouple
#GrumpyCatAndGoldenRetriever
#YouCannotTellMeTheyDontCuddleInTheWatchtower
He clicked a video that had over 30 million views. It was called: “If You Think Batman Doesn’t Love Superman, Watch This”
It opened with a slow-motion scene of him standing in front of Superman, shielding him from a blast using his cape, followed by a close-up where Superman said (according to amateur lip readers), “Are you okay?” and Bruce replied gruffly, “I’m fine, I just couldn’t let you take another hit.”
Soft instrumental music. Glitter text. Hearts floated across the screen.
Bruce closed it, face blank. He was pretty sure that wasn’t what they’d said—but the clip was months old, and he wasn’t about to ask Cass to confirm it just to win an argument with the internet.
Then he opened a blank Word document.
Title: “Superman Interactions: Public Perception Analysis.”
He listed timestamps. Video references. Public reactions. Comment analytics.
Then, on a second tab, he quietly typed: “How to tell if someone is in love with you (asking for a friend).”
He paused. Deleted “(asking for a friend).”
Still too obvious.
He stared at the blinking cursor for a long time.
Then typed: “Signs Superman is in love with Batman.”
He clicked enter.
He did not sleep that night.
Clark hadn’t been this nervous since the night he lost his virginity to Lana Lang in the barn before they left for college on opposite coasts. He’d won a Pulitzer since then—shared the byline with Lois, sure, but it was still a Pulitzer. And yet, here he was, pacing tight circles in the Fortress of Solitude like a teenager waiting for his prom date.
Kelex hovered nearby, clearly trying not to stare. Eventually, the little Kryptonian android gave up pretending.
“Kal-El, is something bothering you?” it chirped in flawless Kryptonian.
“Nothing’s bothering me,” Clark replied, a little too fast. “I’m just… anxious. Batman’s meeting me here soon, and I need to talk to him about something sensitive. I just don’t know how to start.”
Kelex gave a whir of sympathy. “From my study of human behavior, it seems best to be direct. However, I also understand humans are emotionally complex and confusing.”
Clark cracked a smile despite himself. “You’re not wrong.”
“Would you like me to remain nearby for moral support?”
The offer was sweet. But the image of Kelex solemnly standing by while he explained that the world thought he and Bruce were in a secret relationship—based solely on vibes—was more mortifying than helpful.
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got this.”
“As you wish, Kal-El. I will patrol the menagerie and return once your awkward social ritual is complete.”
Clark laughed under his breath as Kelex floated away. He resumed pacing. This was fine. Everything was fine.
When the zeta-tube flared to life, he stopped short.
“Recognized: Batman, zero-two,” the computer intoned.
Bruce stepped through—sans cape and cowl. Just Bruce Wayne, sharp and unreadable in a tailored black coat, like he'd walked out of a fashion magazine spread and into Clark's Fortress.
Clark was suddenly very aware that he, too, had chosen not to wear the suit.
Kelex dipped out of view.
“Bruce,” Clark said. It came out a little too soft.
“Clark.”
The tension wasn’t hostile, but it was heavy. Unspoken things hanging between them like fog. So in that moment Clark was certain that Bruce was also aware of their predicament and there was no need to beat around the bush.
Clark exhaled slowly. “So… you know. About the Superbat hashtag.”
Bruce nodded, jaw tight. “Oracle told me yesterday. I did a deep dive.” A beat. “Uncovered a lot of things I wish I hadn’t. Like apparently the internet thinks I’m a blond.”
Clark's lips twitched. “Yeah. Same.”
Silence lingered. Not uncomfortable, just… charged.
“For me, it was my Ma,” Clark offered, rubbing the back of his neck. “She thought I was ashamed to bring you to the farm for a formal meet the parents. As punishment, she’s been sending me Superbat fan edits daily.”
Bruce huffed a laugh. “Of course she has.”
Clark chuckled too—more from relief than amusement. The ice cracked, if not fully broken.
“I was going to tell you,” he said. “I thought you didn’t know. I was gearing up for some long-winded explanation about out of context videos and misunderstandings.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You mean the parts where we stare at each other too long? Or the ones where we throw ourselves into danger for each other without hesitation?”
Clark hesitated. “…Yes?”
Bruce took a step closer. “Clark. Are those moments out of context?”
Clark tried to hold his gaze but faltered.
“No,” he said softly. “They’re not.”
Another step. Barely a breath between them now.
“I didn’t think you…” Bruce’s voice dipped, raw around the edges. “I always thought it was one-sided.”
Clark let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “God, Bruce. I thought I was the one pining.”
The air changed. It always did when they were too close—electrified, but steady.
Bruce searched his face. “What do we do with that?”
Clark didn’t blink. “I was hoping we kiss and figure it out from there.”
Bruce didn’t reply—not with words. He leaned in.
The kiss was unhurried. It wasn’t desperate or clumsy—it was weighted, sure, but not heavy. This was a kiss built on years of quiet moments, too-long glances, bruised knuckles and shared silences. On trust. On something that had always been more than friendship, even when neither of them said it aloud.
Clark’s hands slid gently to Bruce’s waist. Bruce’s fingers curled into the fabric of Clark’s sweater. The Fortress was cold, but they were warm where they met—grounded in something real for the first time.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved far.
Then Bruce pulled back just enough to see him clearly. “You realize the internet’s going to combust if they find out.”
Clark nodded. “Which is why we’re not telling them.”
Bruce’s eyes gleamed, something sharp and amused flashing behind the softness. “You’re suggesting a counter-narrative.”
“Oh, we’re going full divorce era. No more sweet looks. No more meaningful silences. We fight in public.”
Bruce huffed a laugh, warm and affectionate. “You want to weaponize their perception of us.”
Clark grinned, his eyes sparking with mischief. “I want to be petty for once in my life.”
Bruce leaned in again, brushing his nose against Clark’s with a fondness that was almost tender. “God, I love you.”
Clark’s heart jumped—sharply, like it was trying to take flight inside his chest. For a split second, everything stilled. The world didn’t tilt or spin; it just stopped. The words sank in with the weight of something he hadn’t dared let himself fully hope for, no matter how often he’d imagined them.
He means it, Clark realized, not as a question but a certainty. No deflection. No caveat. Bruce had said it like it was obvious, like it had always been true.
It hit deeper than any praise he’d ever received, sharper than any injury he’d ever taken. Not because it hurt—because it healed. Years of buried longing and careful restraint loosened their grip in an instant.
Clark didn’t flinch. He just let it land.
“Good,” he said, voice low, lips curling into something softer than a smile. “Because I love you too.”
And then he kissed him again, harder this time—less cautious, more certain. One hand slid up into Bruce’s hair, the other anchored at his back, pulling him close like he never wanted to let go. Like the words had broken something open in him, and this—this—was how he wanted to live with it.
Not in silence. Not in hiding. But like this—together.
But they’d hide it just for a little longer.
“What the hell happened between those two?” Hal demanded as soon as the meeting adjourned and both Superman and Batman exited—swiftly, and very much not together.
Not that they stormed out or anything dramatic. No, it was worse than that. They were polite. Efficient. Cordial to the point of clinical. Like nothing had happened… except everything had.
Once, Clark used to glance across the long Watchtower conference table and give Bruce a half-smile like they shared an inside joke. Sometimes they could share a single look and have a full on conversation just from that. They used to linger after meetings, sometimes disappearing together under the pretense of debriefs that ran a little too long. They used to share meals in the mess hall.
Now?
Nothing.
No more smiles. No more secret looks. No more lunches, sidebars, or casual check-ins.
And while Bruce had always treated the Watchtower like a necessary evil, Clark used to hang around to chat with Barry, spar with Diana, be a grounding presence.
These days, Clark ghosted as soon as his presence was no longer needed.
Hal spun his chair in lazy circles, brow furrowed. “Think they finally found out about the hashtag?”
If they had, Hal figured it would’ve brought them closer. That kind of realization—mutual pining made public by a very online peanut gallery—should’ve broken the dam, not built a wall.
“Looks like a lover’s spat to me. Give it a week, they’ll be back to whispering across the table like we don’t exist,” Oliver said, shrugging.
But a week passed.
Then another.
And the silence stretched.
On missions, Superman and Batman were still seamless—tactically perfect, even surgical in their coordination. But every interaction was clipped, every exchange stripped of anything personal. There were no casual glances, no quiet reassurances. If one was in a fight, the other only stepped in if the odds demanded it.
They functioned like soldiers.
But the thing that haunted the rest of the League was what wasn’t there anymore—the warmth, the loyalty that felt personal, the closeness everyone pretended not to notice.
Fans, however, immediately noticed the change.
#SupermanAndBatmanNotTalking
#SuperbatWhereDidYouGo
#IsSupermanOk
#DidSuperbatBreakUp
Fan theories exploded. Was it a real breakup? Had they actually been together all along? Was this just the end of something that never officially began? Or—god forbid—had the world’s greatest bromance been nothing but a lie?
The hashtags trended globally within for weeks. Fans dissected every interaction, every screenshot, every deleted post. Was it a PR stunt? Or had the beloved “Superbat” dynamic simply burned out under the spotlight? Did someone really put an end to the “Superbat” relationship?
Worse, there was no new Superbat content. None. FlashFeed and Snapgram had been dry for weeks. Even on official posts—missions, PR appearances, press conferences—Superman and Batman were never in the same frame unless they had to be. Behind-the-scenes footage was scrubbed of anything resembling intimacy.
While the rest of the League continued posting their usual friendly interactions—Barry pulling pranks on everyone, Hal’s questionable dance moves, Diana sharing her latest book recs—there was a conspicuous absence of Superman and Batman content. Even when they were in a group shot, the camera angles seemed to avoid them standing near each other.
Fans were desperate for something to hold onto. They combed through every past post, analyzing every small moment, every glance. But with the two of them actively avoiding one another, the silence felt like a message and the comments said so:
— It’s over… isn’t it?
— No more #Superbat content…? Why are they acting like strangers?
On FlashFeed, the usual light-hearted moments were missing. There were no more adorable posts where Superman and Batman’s capes moved in sync. No more behind-the-scenes videos where they exchanged quiet looks. No more Justice League Thursday Q&As.
Fans were devastated.
“I know I was the one who suggested it,” Clark said, frowning at his phone as he scrolled through Snapgram, “but I actually feel kinda bad now. People are seriously mourning us.”
He was sprawled across Bruce like a living weighted blanket, long limbs draped with casual intimacy, one arm resting across Bruce’s waist, his head nestled comfortably on his chest. Bruce, who had abandoned all pretense of working through Wayne Enterprise’s next quarter’s budget reports, was idly running his fingers through Clark’s curls with the kind of quiet focus that said he had no intention of stopping.
They’d been retreating to the Fortress more often lately—one of the few places in the galaxy where they could be together without eyes on them. Gotham and Metropolis were too exposed. This was their neutral ground, their sanctuary. Right now they were tangled up together on the oversized crystal couch in the living room area of the Fortress, where the Arctic wind couldn’t touch them and Kelex had the good sense not to interrupt.
“I saw someone crying in a reaction video,” Clark muttered, still scrolling. “We’ve created actual heartbreak.”
Bruce hummed lowly, clearly amused. “We can end their suffering anytime you want. I’m fine going public whenever you are.”
Clark gasped suddenly, eyebrows lifting as he shoved his phone toward Bruce’s face. “Someone on Chirp thinks I left you for Aquaman. Aquaman! Don’t they know he’s married?”
Bruce didn’t even blink. “How scandalous of you, my love,” he said dryly, the endearment slipping off his tongue like it belonged there—because it did. His arm tightened around Clark’s waist, tugging him a little closer.
Clark groaned. “I’m half-tempted to make a personal Superman account just to reply and say ‘he knows what he did.’ Stir the pot. Add fuel to the fire.”
Bruce smirked, a private kind of pleased. “Defamation, deception, and drama. You’ve been spending too much time around me.”
“I’m just saying,” Clark went on, with mock offense, “it’s outrageous to besmirch my boy scout image when you’re the one with the playboy rep.”
“That’s Bruce Wayne’s rep,” Bruce corrected. “Batman’s rep is being a badass who happens to be an asshole.”
Clark grinned, utterly unbothered. “Batman is a softie.”
Bruce snorted. “Tell that to the Gotham underworld.”
“I would,” Clark said, shifting up to kiss him lightly, “but I like keeping you to myself.”
Bruce’s lips quirked, but his eyes softened. “You’re not doing a very good job, considering the entire internet already ships us.”
Clark smirked and settled back down with a satisfied sigh, cheek pressed to Bruce’s chest. “I’m gatekeeping you right now and it’s working.”
Bruce glanced down at him. “Have I told you I find it kind of sexy when you act possessive over me?”
Clark laughed, breath warm against his shirt. “You should. I don’t like to share.”
Bruce let his hand trail down Clark’s spine and then back up, palm coming to rest between his shoulder blades. “Then it’s a good thing I’m already yours.”
There was a brief, quiet beat—weightless and full. Clark’s fingers curled faintly in the fabric of Bruce’s shirt.
“…We’ll tell them soon,” he said eventually, his voice low, thoughtful. “Just… not yet.”
“No rush,” Bruce replied. “Let them suffer a little longer.”
Clark huffed and buried his face against Bruce’s chest. “You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Bruce kissed the crown of his head. “Good.”
Outside, the winds howled across the ice. But inside, in a fortress built for solitude, two of the world’s greatest heroes were tucked safely out of reach—hidden in plain sight, and perfectly content to stay that way, just a little longer.
The end had come with a thunderous silence—no more explosions, no more screaming comms, no more cries for backup. A quiet too loud to feel like peace.
The battlefield stretched from one horizon to the next—charred, cratered, scorched earth as far as the eye could see. Smoke curled from collapsed structures, and the twisted remains of alien warships littered the landscape like dead gods. The air still crackled faintly with residual energy, and beneath the silence, there was the low, ever-present hum of devastation.
It had taken thirty-eight hours. Thirty-eight straight hours of carnage, coordination, and teeth-gritting endurance. The entire Justice League had been deployed, along with auxiliary teams, the Green Lantern Corps, and half of Earth’s militaries. They had won—somehow—but not without cost.
Bruce sat slumped against a jagged slab of broken masonry, cape torn, armor scorched and cracked. One gauntlet was missing, and his bare hand was slick with blood that wasn’t his. His breaths were shallow but steady as he quietly catalogued the damage: two cracked ribs, a probable concussion, first and a couple second degree burns across his side, and more bruises than he wanted to count. His ears rang. His body ached. He was still alive.
Across the smoking wreckage, Clark stood motionless in the dim, hazy light. His cape fluttered limply behind him, tattered at the ends. One side of his suit had been torn open near the shoulder, the wound beneath still raw from where a kryptonite-laced blade had bitten deep. He looked like a man unmoored—eyes scanning the battlefield as if counting casualties, jaw clenched tight with guilt over the lives he hadn’t been able to save.
Then their eyes met.
For a moment, the ruin around them fell away. Most of the League was still scattered across the site, tending to survivors or regrouping. For the first time in hours—maybe days—they were completely alone.
Clark took one hesitant step forward.
Bruce didn’t move. He physically couldn’t.
Then another step.
Bruce’s fingers twitched faintly against the cracked stone, and Clark stopped—but then Bruce lifted that hand, slowly, shakily, reaching.
Clark’s expression softened immediately. In the next instant, he was kneeling beside him, moving with infinite care, as if afraid Bruce might splinter into pieces. His arms came around Bruce, easing him gently forward until they could lean into each other without pain. Bruce let out a shaky breath and sagged into the embrace, some unseen weight finally sliding off his shoulders.
“You idiot,” Clark whispered, voice hoarse, rough with emotion. “You didn’t have to throw yourself into that explosion.”
“You were down,” Bruce murmured, lips close to Clark’s ear. “They had kryptonite blades. What was I supposed to do?”
“Wait for backup.”
“You were my backup.”
Clark exhaled something caught between a laugh and a sob. His hand came up to cup the back of Bruce’s head, guiding their foreheads together as if needing the contact to stay grounded.
For a moment, they just stayed like that, breathing each other in, surrounded by smoke and ruin.
Then Bruce’s hand—trembling but determined—curled into the torn fabric of Clark’s suit, anchoring them both.
And Clark kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was reverent.
Clark leaned in slowly, almost in disbelief that he could, brushing his lips over Bruce’s like a vow. Bruce responded with equal care, tilting his head just enough to meet him, the kiss deepening as if they’d both been waiting for this moment far too long. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of things they hadn’t dared to say out loud. There was salt on their skin, soot between them, blood drying on fingers that still reached for each other anyway.
Bruce winced slightly as they shifted, and Clark instantly pulled back, cupping his face with both hands, thumbs brushing gently over his cowl-covered cheekbones like he could smooth the pain away.
“Sorry,” Clark whispered, eyes searching his under the lenses.
“Worth it,” Bruce murmured, eyes half-lidded, and tugged Clark back into another kiss—slower this time, but no less intense. His hand found its way to the nape of Clark’s neck, keeping him close. When they finally parted again, it was only by a breath.
“Guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” Clark said softly against Bruce’s lips. “We had a good run pretending to hate each other’s guts.”
Bruce huffed a quiet laugh. “Petty bastard.”
Clark smiled faintly. “Takes one to love one.”
Above them, the clouds began to break, shafts of golden sunlight piercing the smoke and spilling across the battlefield like a benediction.
In the distance, Diana paused mid-command. Her eyes caught on the two figures at the center of the wreckage—wounded, clinging to each other in plain view. Her gaze narrowed, then softened.
She didn’t say a word. Just smiled—quiet, knowing—and turned away.
It didn’t take long for Barry to zip up beside her, following her line of sight.
He froze. Then gasped loud enough to echo across the rubble.
“Oh my god,” Barry shouted. “THEY’RE BACK TOGETHER?!”
Murmurs sparked. Then cheers. Then someone—probably Hal—definitely screamed, “SUPERBAT RENAISSANCE!”
Maybe they were too far away to hear the commotion. Maybe Clark did hear, and just didn’t care. Or maybe—for once—they were too tired to be subtle.
And far too happy to pretend otherwise.
@JLUpdates on Chirp
BREAKING: Video footage shows Superman and Batman KISSING after the Xeloran War. The video was captured by a Daily Planet drone still in observation mode. League has not commented. #SuperbatConfirmed
Top Comments:
— Wonder Woman smiled before Flash screamed. This wasn’t news to her. She’s been shipping them for YEARS.
— I can’t believe we finally caught them in 4K.
— Someone yelled “Superbat Renaissance” and honestly? Accurate. ICONIC.
— #Superbat: better love story than Twilight
— The way Superman cupped Batman’s face before kissing him like they were the last two people alive… cinematic excellence.
Clark was sprawled against Bruce’s side, head resting near his shoulder, phone angled just enough that Bruce could glance at it if he wanted., the soft glow of FlashFeed casting flickers of light across the sheets. Bruce was half-sitting against the headboard, a book open in one hand, his reading glasses pushed low on his nose.
“There’s a trend now where people film themselves reacting to our kiss,” he said, somewhere between amused and horrified. “But the most viewed video is an edit of the kiss—from all the drone angles—set to Everytime We Touch by Cascada. Like we’re the leads in a slow burn teen romcom from the 2000’s.”
Bruce didn’t even glance up from the page. “We kind of are.”
Clark blinked. “Wait. Are you proud of this?”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to pretend I hate you in public anymore.”
“You were never very convincing,” Clark teased, nudging Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to convince you.”
Clark grinned, shifting a little closer. “If only you had years of deceiving the public, pretending to be someone you’re not, maybe you’d be better at it.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bruce’s mouth. “Well, the internet’s thrilled. Should we give them a statement?”
Bruce sighed, snapping his book shut with a quiet thump. “We already gave them a spectacle. Let them figure the rest out.”
Clark laughed softly, phone dropping to the blanket between them. “Fine. But I’m saving that romcom edit, and I am showing it to my mom when we visit next weekend.”