Chapter Text
Leslie cleared him to go home within the hour.
“Aside from psychological torture,” she said grimly, “nothing much is actually wrong with you. Get some rest.”
They both knew he would disregard that order immediately, but she had to give it anyway.
“And make sure Damian gets stitches for that arm,” she added. “He won’t let me look at it.”
“He’ll let me look at it,” Bruce said, with flat determination. As soon as they got back to the cave, all it took was a look from him, and Damian sighed, jumping up onto their makeshift hospital bed.
The others had returned with him, including Dick, who had refused to make the journey back to Bludhaven. Ostensibly, he didn’t want to deal with traffic. Bruce had tactfully decided not to offer the batplane, since it would destroy his flimsy excuse. Jason, of course, took off the moment Bruce was cleared. Bruce had to check in with Babs to make sure he had reached his apartment safely, but that was the most he could do for now. The memory of his son tucking his massive frame against Bruce’s chest was enough to settle his fizzling nerves. He finished cleaning and stitching Damian’s arm before performing routine medical checks on the others. Nothing was more wrong than usual, though they were all eerily quiet. Bruce found himself missing their raucous banter even though he complained about it so often. Eventually, they related what had happened when he had been otherwise occupied. They had assisted Clark with taking out Mongul II, which explained their bumps and bruises, but admitted Clark had done a fair share of the work.
“He was scary,” Dick said. “After the Black Mercy got you, he went after Mongul like he had murdered you.”
“How much did you see?” Bruce asked. He didn’t have to elaborate.
“We showed up around when you woke up in the hospital after saving that girl,” Tim said. “Clark filled us in about the… uh-”
“Previous delusion,” Bruce supplied. He forcibly rerouted his mind from the inevitable confrontation he and Clark would have. What had happened in his mind might have been beyond his control, but it was also entirely inappropriate. He couldn’t have Clark feeling uncomfortable. He couldn’t bear the notion that their relationship would change after this.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick offered tentatively. Bruce leveled him with a glare that he knew spoke volumes. Dick rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he said. “We… uh… appreciate it though, B. We know what it means. That you fought Black Mercy so hard you changed the entire world for us.”
A tad melodramatic, Bruce thought. He had just known something was missing.
“And then,” Tim added, forging ahead at a glance from Dick. “You know. Actually emerging from Black Mercy for us.”
“Hm,” Bruce grunted, turning away from them. He didn’t want to see their faces. He didn’t want to see their pity or their surprise. They should know how much they meant to him. He should have told them. Just another way he had failed them. And he certainly didn’t want to see that the feeling wasn’t returned. He had long ago accepted that they didn’t see him as a father the way he saw them as his children, which was his doing entirely. Still, the idea of seeing it written on their faces, so soon after his pretend-universe children had loved him so dearly… he couldn’t do it just now. He heard them muttering to each other, Duke saying something to Damian, who snapped back at him. Much more usual for them to be fighting than getting along.
He felt a warm body wrap around his back, and he relaxed. Cassandra. She had a way of calming him down, preventing him from spiralling. He sighed and turned back to them, giving her a full hug. She smiled at him as she pulled away, though her eyes were sad.
“Father,” Damian was at his side. Bruce composed himself, then turned to his youngest son.
“Yes, Damian?” he asked. He was so small, his face so serious. Bruce often wished he had been able to raise him away from the League, but maybe he would’ve hurt Damian even more.
Damian gritted his teeth in the way he always did before making some emotional concession. Bruce braced himself.
He held up a piece of paper to Bruce. He took it carefully, unfolding it. Damian practically leapt from his side as he looked at what his son had given him.
Damian had clearly drawn it quickly, a sketch of thin pencil lines and shading, but the characters were recognizable. Bruce almost had whiplash from the familiarity of the scene. It was an outsider’s perspective of Bruce waking up in the hospital in the Black Mercy dream. There were the kids, crowded around the bed, heads bent towards him as though he was the center of a black hole, drawing them inexorably inwards. Clark stood slightly apart from them, but watched on fondly, hand ever so slightly outstretched.
No, this wasn’t from the Black Mercy dream. It was when he had woken up from it. He could see scratch marks along Damian’s arm. He wondered when the boy had had time to draw this. Beneath it, in Duke’s comic-book-style print, the other boy had captioned it Happy Family: Unalike. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, reigning in his tears.
“Love you, too, B,” Dick said. “See you in the morning.”
He heard them file out, but he couldn’t bring himself to move for many more moments. He only stirred when he heard the whoosh of a cape through the air.
“Bruce,” Clark greeted him, his tone noticeably light. Bruce didn’t begrudge him that.
“Clark,” he said. He breathed in and out once, then turned to face the other man.
He was unfairly gorgeous in the dim light of the cave. Though he wasn’t wearing his customary primary colors, he still shone like a beacon, standing there amongst Bruce’s doom and gloom. He was in that state between Clark Kent the human and Kal-El the superman that Bruce was privileged to be one of the few people to see. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but his hair was an unruly mess of curls. Bruce had a flashback to running his fingers through that hair, clutching it as Clark had -
But that hadn’t happened. And Clark had seen it, every one of Bruce’s ridiculous, explicit fantasies playing out on a television screen. He felt sick to his stomach.
He clenched his jaw, much as Damian had done only minutes before.
“I appreciate you letting the kids go upstairs,” Bruce said. “I should…apologize. For the tenor of my dreams.”
“Bruce,” Clark sighed. “Obviously, I was a bit surprised to see us having sex on the main screen.”
Bruce held back an unexpected laugh. Clark was a farm boy through and through, but that included less prudishness than Bruce had once thought and a lot more practicality. It still caught him off guard sometimes
“Don’t worry about it, though,” he continued, “I shut it down pretty quickly once we saw where it was going. Only J’onn and I saw that part, and you know he won’t run around telling people.”
If J’onn peeked into Bruce’s thoughts with any regularity, he would’ve seen that scene and much worse approximately a billion times. Bruce didn’t think he could thank any higher power for the fact that Clark had seen into his mind, but there were much dirtier fantasies he could’ve been privy to, and for that he was grateful.
“I was apologizing to you,” Bruce said. “Not to J’onn, or the rest of the League. It might have embarrassed them, but it was a violation for you.”
“You didn’t have any control over that,” Clark said, waving his hand dismissively. Bruce stared at him in shock.
“I clearly did, as I demonstrated when I ‘awoke’ the second time.”
“Bruce, that’s not…” Clark trailed off. “It was more violating for you than anyone else. I didn’t come here for an apology. I came here to see if you were alright.”
And this was the crux of the matter. Even after everything Bruce had done wrong this evening and, honestly, for years on end, Clark was still here to check on him. Bruce had harbored this secret and knowingly fed it, allowing himself moments of stupid imagination, especially after Clark and Lois had divorced. He couldn’t control his deepest, darkest desires, but perhaps if he had placed the lid firmly on those feelings, they would have died out. Instead, he’d fanned the flames and put Clark in the impossible position of rejecting his best friend. No matter how hard he tried, or what he did, he was wrong for Clark. He couldn’t go back in time and stop himself from adopting the kids, and he secretly, selfishly, didn’t think that he would. In his best moments, he hoped he had done them some good. He might even have done Clark some good in their long friendship. But a relationship? Bruce knew he wasn’t good enough for Clark. He could stop himself right here.
And yet, if Clark had said the word, Bruce would’ve thrown himself headfirst into it anyway. Hopeless romantic, indeed.
“I’m fine,” Bruce said shortly.
“I was honored,” Clark said softly after a moment, though it wasn’t hesitant. Bruce felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want empty platitudes.
“If that’s all you came to say, I’d appreciate you leavi-”
“No, I’m not saying it right.”
Bruce knew Clark had superspeed, but the speed at which he was behind Bruce’s shoulder was dizzying. He was so close that Bruce could feel warmth radiating off him. Not that that said much. The man was a living furnace. He was so close that Bruce could lean back and rest against him - that Bruce couldn’t turn around without bumping into him. He should feel trapped, but all he wanted to do was melt into him.
“Bruce,” Clark’s voice was serious and low. His mouth was so close to Bruce’s ear he barely had to speak to be heard.
“Clark,” Bruce’s voice was tight, but he matched Clark’s volume.
“I was Superman,” he said quietly. “In your dream sequence.”
It wasn’t what Bruce had expected him to say. It broke the tension somewhat, and Bruce turned to face him, shoving him slightly with his shoulder. Clark moved back to give him room to turn around, but crowded him again when they were face to face. Bruce wondered if he even knew he was doing it. He was so careful to minimize his strength and size with others but, for better or worse, he let himself relax around Bruce.
“Of course you were,” Bruce said. “I wouldn’t be in love with only half of you.”
He had known what he was saying when he was saying it, but he hadn’t expected it to hit Clark so palpably. The other man stiffened, his pupils blew wide, and his hands twitched at his sides.
“Bruce,” he breathed, and then he was kissing him. Bruce didn’t understand. The dream had made it obvious that he loved him. This was hardly a confession. But apparently it had been something, because Clark was kissing him desperately and, god help him, Bruce was kissing him back. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t pull himself away when this was everything he had ever wanted. Black Mercy hadn’t even come close. Clark’s body was warm and powerful and surrounding him. His mouth was hot, devouring Bruce’s, switching from nipping at his lower lip to soothing it with his tongue. Bruce couldn’t resist the urge to grab the front of Clark’s stupid ratty T-shirt and pull him closer, scrabbling at his broad shoulders for some sort of purchase, some semblance of control. Clark pushed him back against the Batcomputer console, one hand braced on it so Bruce wouldn’t bang into it. His other arm encircled Bruce’s waist, pulling him closer. His mouth left Bruce’s, and he was kissing along his jaw, down his neck. He settled at Bruce’s pulse point and sucked. Bruce let out a choked moan, his hips stuttering forward without his permission. Clark licked at this place he had bitten and began to pepper Bruce’s neck with kisses, shifting his arm lower so he could grind their hips together.
“Clark,” Bruce managed, and then finally, finally, sunk his fingers into those thick black curls. Clark’s hair was soft and resisted Bruce just enough that he felt like he had won when he managed to push his fingers through. Clark let out another noise and pulled back, rising up to Bruce’s lips again. Bruce pushed forward immediately, lapping into Clark’s mouth, tugging lightly at his curls. He could feel Clark hardening through the ragged material of his sweatpants, and god was he responding in kind, although the cup of the Batsuit made it more uncomfortable than he would have liked. He wanted to take it off, but he was distracted by Clark’s roaming hands and the steady roll of Clark’s hips against his.
“Clark,” Bruce said again, more desperately, and Clark pulled back. His eyes were dark, his mouth red and swollen. Bruce’s fingers were still tangled in his hair. He could only imagine how he looked. Clark let out what could only be classified as a low whine as he took Bruce in, so he could guess fairly debauched.
There was a cough behind them. Clark pulled completely away immediately, turning towards the Batcomputer. If Bruce wasn’t so bereft at the sudden loss of him, he would’ve laughed. Clark’s erection was entirely too noticeable. He spared a moment to thank god they hadn’t gotten to taking off the Batsuit. He wasn’t doing much better.
“Good to know everything’s working out okay,” Dick said, a little too bright and cheerful. “Might I suggest one of the many, many bedrooms we have?”
“What are you doing down here?” Bruce said. His voice was too raspy for this conversation. The corner of Dick’s mouth quirked up, but he didn’t comment.
“I just came down to get some of the stronger stuff for Damian’s arm,” he said. “He’s having trouble sleeping.”
That doused Bruce’s arousal like a cold splash of water. What was he doing? Damian was in pain-
“Don’t freak out,” Dick said. “It's just hurting a bit. Besides, that’s what family’s for, B. You don’t have to be a hundred percent on all the time. It’s fine.”
Clark huffed out a laugh. Bruce glared at him. He got his smile under control.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see Superman whipped,” Dick went on. He had apparently never heard of the terms tact or mercy.
“Really?” Clark turned around, finally presentable again. His mouth looked entirely too kissed and kissable. Bruce fisted his hands in his cape.
“No, you’re right,” Dick said. He grabbed the meds he needed. “You were always whipped. Just glad to see you’re both happy. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“We really don’t have to,” Bruce said.
“It’s the best I can give you,” Dick said. “I’ve already texted the group chat.”
Clark laughed again, loud and clear this time, and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to glare at him.
“Go to bed,” Bruce said wearily. “Get me if Damian gets worse.”
“Will do, boss,” Dick saluted, then headed back out of the cave. Bruce turned back to Clark.
“Speaking of talking,” Clark said. “Sorry for just grabbing you.”
“I didn’t mind,” Bruce said mildly. He wondered if he could get his hands on Clark before any sort of speech.
“I should’ve told you,” Clark began. Guess not. “That I’ve loved you for years. That I never thought you could ever return these feelings, and I would take being your best friend over dating anyone else ever again. That seeing that I was there as part of your family - me, as Clark Kent and Superman…a reporter with a shitty schedule and a workaholic who ran out of your proposal, the absolute worst parts of me… B, it scared me. Because I never thought I’d have a chance with you, and I wanted it so badly I was worried this might be my own Black Mercy concoction. That-”
“Clark,” Bruce crossed the distance between them with two strides and covered Clark’s mouth with his hand. The other man’s eyes were shining, but he subsided.
“I can’t…I’m not--” Bruce lowered his hand, frustrated at his lack of eloquence at the moment when he needed it most.
“I thought you might be reluctant,” Clark said. “I’m willing to wait. To woo you, if need be. Just to know I have a shot… that’s enough, B. You’re never getting rid of me now.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you,” Bruce said stolidly.
“If you hadn’t already declared your love for me,” Clark took his hand, smiling slightly. “I would’ve said that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That’s not true,” Bruce said, one eyebrow raised.
Clark laughed again.
“So, what do you say, B? You gonna make me work for it?”
He should list all the reasons why he was wrong for Clark. He should pull away and say that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. This would go wrong, and Bruce would get hurt again, and he would hurt Clark, which was even worse. But, apparently, he would never learn his lesson, because he stepped closer to Clark and rested their foreheads together. Clark closed his eyes and, after a moment, Bruce did, too.
“You know,” Bruce said. “Dick was right about one thing.”
“What?” Clark asked, but the levity was back in his voice as Bruce had intended. He opened his eyes to find a mischievous spark in Clark’s beautiful blue eyes.
“There are plenty of perfectly good bedrooms here going to waste.”
Clark grinned and pulled him in.