Archive of Our Own

Realistically, Bruce never thought he’d have much to do with the others outside of the Justice League.

After all, Victor might be more confident in himself now, but he still never really steps outside of the lab, and Bruce can’t really blame him. Whenever he is seen in public he’s ogled at, and despite it being a work in progress he knows that Victor still harbours a certain amount of insecurity.

There’s Barry, and Bruce finds that since Barry has taken the job offer with Central City police he’s become less of a constant. There was a time in the begin where Bruce was fielding calls from him left, right, and centre, and he enjoyed them. Barry was the one out of them all that kept up streams of communication, but Bruce doesn’t blame him for falling off the grid with his new job.

Then there’s Arthur Curry, and even if the man wanted to be found Bruce is almost positive he couldn’t be. If Bruce hadn’t already met the man and exchanged many a word, and if Arthur wasn’t checking in monthly with Bruce, then he’d be sure that Arthur Curry is nothing more than just a ghost. Sure, he agrees to be part of the team, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll abandon his home.

He does see Diana on the occasion though. They often run in the same social circles now since her move to Washington DC, and it’s surprisingly nice to gave someone to suffer through the drab occasions with. Although, and Bruce struggled with at first but now welcomes it as a hearty distraction, Diana always comes with an opinion. A raised eyebrow at the latest bimbo on Bruce’s arm, a roll of her eyes as he praises and compliments his way through potential investors, and the occasional unladylike snort when his schmoozing goes wrong. There was one memorable night at a charity ball where she ‘accidentally’ spilt an entire glass of wine down some sleazy investors back just as said investor was starting to get too handsy with Bruce, having taken Bruce’s casual flirting too far, but the sweet giggly Diana had cured the investors rage with a bat of her eyelashes, and since then Bruce has been charmed to have Diana around.

Despite this though, the one person Bruce never sees or hears from, is Clark Kent.

The others always check in monthly with him, even if Arthur’s check-ins are always short and rude where Barry’s are at least an hour long with Bruce talking approximately no percent of the time, but since his resurrection, Clark has given Bruce a wide berth. Sure, there was the moment at his old home in Kansas where Bruce helped regain possession, but after that Clark had fallen into radio silence.

Bruce knows he sees the others. Barry in particular always talks about his days with Clark. He checks in via Diana monthly instead of with Bruce directly, and in all honestly, Bruce finds it stings knowing that Clark doesn’t want anything to do with him. He gets it. Sure, attempting to kill the man, then watching him die, then resurrecting him might do a lot of damage to their premature relationship, but, since Clark has been unofficially labeled alongside Bruce as co-leader of the Justice League, Bruce thought Clark would reach out to him at some point.

It drives Bruce mad at times, but Diana rolls her eyes and tells him Clark clearly needs time. So Bruce grits his teeth and tries desperately not to get angry about it.

It means though, after eight months of radio silence and not a single in-person meeting, seeing Clark at the Martha Wayne Charity Ball and Auction has Bruce absolutely agitated.

Of course, he’s one of the reporters, standing amongst the herd of them with his ill-fitting suit, wonky glasses, and an obnoxious badge with “Daily Planet” on it. Bruce knows Clark has gone back to his old job, and when he spots Lois Lane’s tight hand on Clark’s elbow he wonders if this is Clark’s first big event since the resurrection. Not that he would know. Clark doesn’t speak to him at all, and so far throughout the night he’s not looked his way once. Bruce won’t admit why it annoys him, refusing to acknowledge the little green monster moving under his skin as he sees Clark lean into Lane, still obviously enamoured by her.

“I tried to convince him not to come.”

Bruce almost jumps as Diana’s voice comes from his left, disrupting his thoughts enough to snap him back to reality. It’s habit by now for him to just lift his elbow as her hand slides underneath it to hold, and he glances at her with the typical Bruce Wayne smile glittering on his face.

“You look exquisite as usual,” he compliments her loudly enough to catch the attention of a wandering photographer. He eyes up the blue slit gown she’s wearing, revealing enough, and he can see the headlines already of reporters once again speculating about their relation ship. She’s perfectly poised against the media attention, as usual, always catching the eyes of many in the room, both male and female, and if Bruce hadn’t seen her break a man’s neck with her bare hands then he’d probably be one of them.

“Flattered,” she murmurs, a small smile on her face as she curls in close to him. She inclines her head so her mouth is by his ear, and to anyone watching it’d just look like Bruce Wayne and Ms. Prince are back to their usual flirting ways. “Seriously though,” she whispers. “This is his first time since… well, you know. Even Lois doesn’t know how he’s going to go. Apparently, he’s been getting better within crowd situations, but he still has moments where he loses control.” She sighs. “It’s only been a few months. We can’t expect too much of him.”

Bruce nods his head, a smile on his lips as he sees a few people watching them. He reaches up to push a lock of Diana’s hair behind her ear and lean in close. “So what?” he mutters, eyeing the ambassador who’s looking at them with interest and dropping a wink. “We keep an eye on him and hope he doesn’t snap? Not exactly your best plan, Diana. Kent’s a ticking time bomb at the moment.”

If he sounds tense, which of course he does, it’s because he has a damn good reason. He knows the League has all agreed to help each other when necessary, but right now, even though it’s childish, Bruce would rather spend an evening with Arthur bloody Curry than playing caretaker for Clark Kent. At least Arthur talks to Bruce and acknowledges him. Clark is a blatant blank wall.

“We’re not friends, Diana,” Bruce reminds her when she doesn’t reply. “We’re barely allies.”

“You’re wrong,” Diana scolds him as her grip on his elbow becomes painful and Bruce hides his wince with a fake laugh. “We're supposed to support each other. no matter what. We’re a team, you said it yourself. Don’t go back on your word now, not when he needs you.” She pulls back with a practised laugh and smacks him on the chest. To everyone else in the room it probably looks like Bruce Wayne just told Ms. Prince a flirtatious joke, but Bruce is pretty sure the smack to his chest is going to bruise. He just gives Diana a charming smile and a subtle nod of assent in response though as he resists the urge to rub his chest. She is right after all, even if Bruce feels petty enough to ignore her, but he won’t.

She looks pleased enough at that and peels away from him to mingle with the rest of the room. She takes a hundred stares with her as her as her blue dress clings in all the right places, and he doesn’t envy all the broken hearts she leaves in her wake.

Bruce nabs a glass of champagne as it comes swinging by on a tray. He doesn’t drink at these occasions normally, or ever for that matter, the need to stay alert higher than the need to get drunk, but he does throw this one glass back just for comfort's sake, really. From the way some of the investors are eyeing up the small group of reporters, some particularly shark-like, Bruce has a sneaky suspicion that an intervention will be needed on Clark’s part at some point.

His suspicions are proved right barely half an hour later as he’s discussing the latest Wayne Science Scholarship grant with a wonderful woman and her overly affectionate drunk husband. Bruce hides his smile behind his untouched whiskey glass as she constantly reins in his attentiveness. Admittedly Bruce feels a little bit of yearning, something that Alfred would undoubtedly find hilarious and revolutionary after so long of vehemently insisting he should be alone, but it’s not something he can help. He doesn’t let it show though as he laughs with the wife and helps her settle her husband on her shoulder.

Once they’re gone, Bruce surveys the room at large. He spots Diana holding court with a group of enthusiastic woman, that side of the room a lethal mix of slimline gowns and graceful ladies. A flash of red hair nearby shows Lane neck deep in interviews and statements from a large group of people and definitely holding her own against them all. That makes Bruce frown though as he glances around for the probably unattended Clark. He spots him relatively quick and swears under his breath.

He’s surrounded by a group of, frankly, lecherous members of the Wayne Enterprises board. Unfortunately, Bruce is privy to some of their tastes, and he quickly starts across the room with a determined stride. His normal facade of Bruce Wayne is gone as he shoves past an eager reporter and straight through Diana’s group, refusing to apologise as he normally would. She catches his eyes for a barely a moment before her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open.

He ignores her though as he swings into the group surrounding Clark and lays on a sly smile as he immediately slides a possessive hand around Clark’s waist and pulls him close enough that the drink in Clark’s hand spills and the man lets out a startled yelp.

“Well hello, handsome,” Bruce drawls as he gives Clark an appraising look and his hands stray that little further down Clark’s back. Clark’s face immediately turns red, and he flusters where he stands and wriggles slightly in Bruce’s hold as he refuses to make eye contact. Bruce tightens his grip just enough so Clark knows its certainly not an affectionate hand but more of a warning.

“I… Mr. Wayne-” he starts to say back, stammering a little and Bruce can tell he’s bloody nervous. Bruce takes pity on him as he cuts him off.

“Please,” he interrupts smoothly, and he gives the board members a saucy smile that’s returned by frustrated looks from a few of the more inclined members. Lucky he moved in when he did then. “It’s Bruce,” he continues as he grins up at Clark. “And just what’s your name, gorgeous?” He can feel the eyes of all the board members on them, and that’s good. He knows most of them will back down if he stakes his claim fair and square in front of them.

“C-Clark Kent?” Clark manages to stutter out as a bloody question of all things, and Bruce does find it amusing how flustered Clark is, especially since he’s seen the man with Lane. He shouldn’t be nervous at all with the way those two act. “I’m from the Daily Planet.” he continues awkwardly as his eyes remain fixed on his glass, and Bruce almost growls at him to play along.

Bruce can work with this though, can use the shy virginal act to his advantage. He hums as he runs his eyes over Clark’s body appreciatively, making sure it’s obvious as he licks his lips and smirks back at Clark. “How would a private interview sound to you?” he asks, his voice full of implication as he runs his hand lower and lower down Clark’s back until it’s just sitting on the curve of his ass. Clark’s blush deepens as he glances up to look at Bruce before looking away with wide eyes.

It’s such a blatantly innuendo that Bruce uses, and he hears one of the board members awkwardly cough while a few of them shuffle on their feet. One even mutters something under his breath that’s pretty inflammatory, but Bruce ignores it as he just waits to see what Clark will say. Clark doesn’t reply though, just stares at his drink with a rather adorably confused look, and Bruce seals the deal by leaning in and placing a rather languid kiss on his cheek.

To Clark’s credit, he doesn’t even jump at the contact, but he does seem to register what’s happening in his eyes and when Bruce pulls back he gives a smarmy look at the board members.

“Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but if you’ll excuse us,” he slurs, raising his whisky class at them and ignoring the glares he gets back from a few. “I do believe I have an appointment with Mr. Kent here.” He gives them another sly wink, something that turns Clark’s ears red as he gapes openly at Bruce, before he guides Clark away. He keeps his hand on Clark’s hips as they go and makes sure to lean into him intimately as they cross the room. He already sees reporters scribbling away on their pads, and some appraising looks from the more lecherous partygoers.

Bruce plays up the facade right up until they’ve crashed into the stairwell and gone down one flight of stairs before he pulls completely away from Clark to stand on the other side of the landing. There’s a long awkward silence as Clark averts Bruce’s eyes, and Bruce takes a bracing sip of his whisky as he leans back against the railing of the landing. It’s not like he can go back to the party now without stirring an already filled pot, not without Clark on his arm at least, and he refuses to allow Clark back into that nightmare.

“You should go home,” Bruce finally says as the silence stretches on too long. Clark looks up at him, startled at his voice, and Bruce pins him with a hard look. “I don’t think you are ready to come out to such an event yet, not when it’s only been a handful of months since your resurrection. If you leave now, I’ll personally inform Ms Lane of your departure.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Clark murmurs as he glances away. Bruce locks his jaw in anger, refusing to say something bitter and snappy, and despite his usual rule he downs his whisky. Clearly, this is one of those nights where rules are made to be broken. Something about Clark always has him second-guessing himself, throwing caution to the wind, and it’s not good enough.

He starts to move past Clark, not here for the awkward conversation Clark is only slightly providing. If he can’t go back to the party he might as well go home. Alfred might be happy to see him, actually. Probably will try to convince him for a game of chess and a nightcap as he bemoans Bruce’s terrible bachelorhood.

He’s stopped though by Clark’s hand coming down on his upper arm. It’s only a light touch, but just like Diana Bruce knows the power Clark holds behind it. If Clark truly doesn’t want him to go anywhere, then he sure as hell won’t.

Despite that though, Bruce is irritated enough just to shrug Clark’s hand off. It seems Clark respects him enough to drop his hand, but he still doesn’t say anything. Bruce has half a mind to turn and snap at the man to just get on with it or let Bruce leave, but Clark shuffles uncomfortably beside him before clearing his throat.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and Bruce stiffens at the words. “You didn’t… I was out of my depth.”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” Bruce snaps, something in him letting go with a crack as he turns to glare at Clark and his free hand balls into a fist while the other tightens dangerously around his whisky glass. “For your first event you should’ve started smaller. This ball and auction is one of the biggest of the year. In what world did you think you were capable of handling it when I know you still lose control if you get overwhelmed at your work? Don’t think Ms. Lane hasn’t kept us all up to date on what happens even if you fail to do so. Just last week you destroyed the bathrooms when you couldn’t control your laser vision because you got angry over someone in the office making a play for Ms. Lane!” Bruce gnashes his teeth together as he shakes his head. “You’re endangering people through your actions, Kent. You have to know that.”

“I know,” Clark says, and Bruce ignores how hapless he looks to plow on.

“Do you? You could destroy the world in a blink,” Bruce presses, and he can feel anger rising further and future into his throat. “You’re a metahuman. You have powers that are unimaginable and I know you’ve been having problems with them since you came back. Things are triggering you that didn’t before and the whole world will pay for your damn mistakes!”

“I just wanted to…” Clark starts to murmur before trailing off uncertainly, and that just angers Bruce more as he takes a step forward into Clark’s space.

“What?” Bruce demands, glaring at Clark. “You wanted a good story? To be welcomed back on the scene? To pick up where you left off? You’re still recovering, Kent! You’re a damn danger to everyone and yourself at the moment until you get all your powers back under control. This is serious-”

“I just wanted to be normal!” Clark cracks, his voice raised and angry as he glares straight back at Bruce. “I wanted to be normal again, Bruce. Everyone keeps treating me like I’m fragile and going to break!” He huffs and crosses his arms, turning his head from Bruce as he drops his voice. “Lois, Diana, Mom. They’re all worried I’m going to break or snap and I’m not. I’m…” He shakes his head. “I can do this, Bruce. I know I can. The times I’ve lost control its… It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There are still moments where I feel a fog and…”

He trails off again and Bruce sighs as Clark bows his head to look at the floor. He may not be fragile, but Clark is still not the man he was before his death. Admittedly, it’s jarring to see Superman so unsure of himself, so recluse when he was an icon before. It’s a mess, really, and for the first time, Bruce wonders if resurrecting Clark was a good idea after all?

Bruce holds back a sigh as he sees Clark’s hands are trembling where they grip the rail behind him. What a nightmare. He glances around to see if there’s any sign of interference, and really Bruce is hoping someone comes bursting through the door to interrupt them, but when no one comes he reaches out to cup Clark’s shoulder awkwardly.

“You’re not normal, Kent,” he mutters, and Clark just shakes his head and keeps it down. “No matter how much you want to be, you’re not. You’re Superman, and above that, you’re Clark Kent. Being normal was never in your dossier.” He sighs and squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “I know resurrections are messy, and they leave you scrambling to pick up the pieces but you’ll get there. Trust me on that. It will get better, but it takes time.”

“How do you know?” Clark asks, and Bruce has a flash of a young boy and a destroyed suit in his Batcave. It leaves something nasty in the back of his throat and he drops his hand from Clark’s shoulder as it trembles for a moment.

“I just do,” Bruce tells him after a hesitant moment before he sighs. “As for the others? Cut them some slack.”  Clark looks up, clearly bewildered by Bruce’s gentle words, and even Bruce finds them odd on his tongue. “It was tough without you around, Clark. And it’s not easy to adjust to you being back either.”

A reminder of the Kent farm, empty and broken. Martha Kent standing on the porch looking lost as Bruce hands her flowers and murmurs he’s sorry. Bruce grits his teeth and tries not to think on it more.

“You have,” Clark points out quietly, and Bruce raises an eyebrow as he focuses back on Clark. “We’re back to pretending neither one of us exists,” Clark continues, ignoring Bruce’s disbelief. “Back to after I defeated Zod. You don’t want me around, Bruce. You’ve always seen me as a threat, no matter how much you try to convince yourself and everyone around you.”

“Let’s not forget you’re the one avoiding me,” Bruce snaps back, his eyes hard as all traces of understanding flees to be replaced by frustration. “You’ve been going through Diana when it comes to League business.”

“Really?” Clark shoots back, standing up straight, and even though he’s only an inch taller than Bruce he still towers over him enough. “When have you tried to contact me, Bruce? Personally contact me? You’re the one who only ever goes through Diana.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue but falls short. It’s not a lie, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s not the truth either. After the first time Diana had reported in for Clark, Bruce hadn’t said anything about it. He’d left it alone, chalked it up to Clark not being ready to see him yet or talk to him which was fine.

But then there was the second and the third and by that point, he’d taken the hint. Part of him wonders if maybe he’d ask Clark for a check in person the second time, maybe gone to find him since he does know where he is most of the time, maybe it’d be different? After all, it’s not like anyone in the League knows where Batman is, only Bruce Wayne.

But then again, Bruce isn’t his caretaker. Bruce isn’t there to run around after poor Clark Kent and give him leniency. Their jobs can’t afford that.

So it doesn’t matter, Bruce decides. They’re never destined to be friends. Reluctant allies and co-leaders at best, and even then Bruce is finding it hard to see that as an outcome. But that’s fine with Bruce. In their line of work, attachments can be a hindrance more than anything at times, and Bruce has already enough of those.

He pushes off from the railing, ignoring Clark still staring at him, and he heads for the stairs back to the party. Who cares what they think about his lack of reporter on his arm. They can think what they want and write what they want and Bruce will always ignore it because that’s what he does.

The door bursts open though just as he’s at the top of the stairs, nearly sending him tumbling backwards if he didn’t catch the rail behind him. Diana steps through, glancing at Bruce briefly before trotting down the stairs to Clark’s side.

“Everything okay?” she asks as she grips Clark’s arm and cups his cheek. “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice. I got so swept away with-”

“It’s fine, Di,” Clark says. Bruce huffs as he looks away from the two and his hand tightens enough around his glass he’s worried it might break. He can hear the two murmuring together as he reaches out to grab the doorknob, but pauses when he hears Diana call his name.

He glances down at them, both frowning back, and Bruce quirks his head to the side as Clark steps forward.

“For what it’s worth, Bruce,” he calls up to him, and he looks hesitant as he speaks. “Thank you for helping me.”

Bruce stares him down, waiting until Clark rips his gaze away and looks at the floor. Diana is still beside him, her hand on his back as she watches Clark with concerned eyes, and Bruce clenches his hand around the doorknob.

“Go home, Kent,” he finally says, and both look at him in surprise. His gaze is cool though, no hint of warmth, and Clark looks like he’s been scolded as his mouth drops open. “You’re not ready for this. For any of this.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply or pause for a moment as he twists the door handle. It’s easy to slip on his glittering Bruce Wayne smile, and with practised ease he sweeps back into the party.

At first, Bruce doesn’t want to get involved with the escaped Lex Luthor.

It’s not a petty thing at all. It’s not like Bruce is ignoring the problem because he knows Clark will take care of it, especially since Luthor is in Metropolis. It’s because Bruce hasn’t slept for four days, has busted twelve different trafficking rings in the seedy underbelly of Gotham, and Alfred keeps looking at him with a particularly venomous look whenever he does go to stand. At this point Bruce is almost positive that Alfred has laced his tea with something just to get him to stop.

So he contacts Diana to send in if Clark needs help, and it’s fine. It’s okay. But then he’s watching the news on television an hour after the phone call to Diana and he sees a flash of black and orange on the screen and his stomach drops.

His phone buzzing beside him, Dick Grayson popping up on caller ID, makes him feel even more uneasy as he picks it up.

“Don’t tell me,” he says straight away as he leans forward in his seat, eyes glued to the screen. “That’s-”

“Slade Wilson,” Dick confirms, and Bruce can hear the television on his end parroting through the connection what Bruce is watching. “I didn’t know he was out.”

“Last I checked he wasn’t,” Bruce mutters as he stands from his seat and starts to head towards the door. “He must’ve broken out too.”

“Seriously, Bruce, you have to get the asylum's security upgraded. This is getting ridiculous. How many breaks in the last month alone? Five?”

“I know that, Dick,” Bruce scolds back over the phone as he makes his way down the corridor towards the Batcave. Alfred appears out of one of the doors along the way but thankfully doesn’t say anything, just swings into step beside him. “Where are you? I’m still going to be an hour or so out. Any chance you’re in Bludhaven tonight?”

“Always,” Dick replies, and Bruce can hear him rummaging around on the other end, no doubt pulling on his Nightwing suit. “I’m half an hour out. Do you have Wonder Woman coming in?”

Bruce huffs as he enters the drawing room and places his hand on the biometric scanner on the far wall. “I do,” he tells Dick as he leans in for the eye scan. “But she’s coming all the way from Washington and I only called her an hour or so ago. She’ll get there the same time as me.”

Dick huffs as Bruce pulls the phone away from his mouth for the voice recognition, and with a satisfying hiss the wall opens up and pulls back to show the elevator. A quick drop and soon the Batcave is sprawling out in front of him.

“Who’s going to watch over Gotham with you and I both gone?” Dick asks when Bruce raises the phone back to his ear, and Bruce sighs as he looks at the large tracking screen covering one wall. Tim’s little blip is hovering somewhere near the police station and leaving Bludhaven is Dick’s.

“Tim’s got it,” he says, and he hears Dick groan. “Be nice. He’s a good Robin.”

“That kid is too serious for his own good,” Dick mutters, and Bruce hides a smile. “What about… have you heard from Jason?”

Bruce freezes in place, his eyes automatically tracking over to the displayed suit, wrecked and ruined with the mocking yellow paint on it. Jokes on you Batman it says, and it makes Bruce’s skin crawl. He sees Alfred follow his line of sight before sighing and brushing past it. It’s the most unpleasant thing down here in the Batcave, but Bruce still can’t bring himself to get rid of it.

“I haven’t heard from Jason in a long time, Dick,” Bruce finally murmurs, and Dick sighs through the phone. “Who knows where he is.”

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Dick replies gently, and Bruce doesn’t want his apologies. Has never wanted anyone’s apologies. Jason’s death was Bruce’s own fault, and it would’ve been less cruel to have just let him stay dead. Part of Bruce wants to hunt down and destroy those that did this to Jason, make them pay for what they did to his boy. It’s unforgivable, and the memory of such a light body resting in his arms haunts him.

It doesn’t matter. None of this matters right now. At the moment Lex Luthor and Slade Wilson are taking to Metropolis with a vengeance and Clark is going to need some back up to deal with those two plus whatever minions Luthor has managed to rustle up. Bruce hasn’t got time to wallow in self-pity.

“It’s fine, Dick,” he says back, even though it’s not and he knows Dick will hear the lump in his voice. “Alfred and I are just setting up the mobile and I’ll be there in an hour tops. Will you be able to handle it?”

He hears a hum come from Dick, and he worries for a brief moment that he’s asking too much before Dick chirps a quick affirmative back over the line. He cuts it from his end, and Bruce is left holding an empty phone to his ear.

He doesn’t linger though as he tucks it into his pocket and nods at Alfred before sliding over to his line up of suits. He contemplates the exoskeleton for a long moment before deciding this situation shouldn’t be that dire. His new tactical suit is currently under repairs from the last four days, so he grudgingly chooses his normal suit.

Bruce is just about to attach the voice modulator to his mask when Alfred comes up and takes it from his hands. With quick and precise movements it’s ready, and Bruce raises an eyebrow as Alfred continues to mutter under his breath.

“I’ll be fine, Alfred,” he says, reaching out to clap the man on his shoulder. “Seriously. It’s only Luthor and Wilson and I’ll have-”

“The last time you fought Wilson, he almost amputated your arm,” Alfred snaps back, glaring at Bruce. “And that was when you were fully rested, Master Bruce. Imagine what he’ll do this time.”

Bruce takes the mask from Alfred gently. “Last time I didn’t have Dick, Wonder Woman, and Superman there with me.” He reaches up and places the mask on, securing it tightly. “And I’ll have you in my ear most of the time. Stop stressing. You have enough grey hairs and wrinkles as is.”

“Master Bruce!” Alfred protests, and Bruce just laughs as he pushes past him to settle into the Batmobile. Alfred is still spluttering behind him as Bruce sticks his hand out the window in goodbye, and within seconds of the garage door opening he’s speeding out into the countryside.

An hour isn’t that long of a time, especially not when Alfred comes online a few minutes into the drive and gives Bruce a constant stream of updates. Bruce’s suspicions are confirmed when Alfred reports that Superman isn’t able to cope with the two villains and their entourage. So far the Metropolis CBD has been mostly evacuated and a lot of buildings have been destroyed in the ensuing battle. That makes Bruce’s jaw clench over the similarities of the fight Clark had with Zod, and he can’t get the image of the little girl he saved from a collapsing building out of his head.

He’s halfway there when Alfred confirms Dick is on the scene, and Bruce feels himself holding his breath as Alfred informs him that Dick is going after Wilson himself. It makes Bruce push his foot flat to the floor as a small panic rises in his chest and he’s gliding between traffic with ease as he tears towards Metropolis on the connecting highway.

Diana comes over the radio line when Bruce is only minutes out, confirming she’s arrived and assisting Nightwing. She tells him to hurry up, as much of as order as Bruce has ever heard from her, and that Superman isn’t in the best shape right now.

There’s a barricade created by the Metropolis police that circles the majority of the fight, and Bruce screams to a halt when he comes up to one, the police diving out of his way. He doesn’t stop though, flinging himself out of the vehicle and vaulting over the barricade with ease. He can hear the cheers of the people behind him but he doesn’t pay attention as he legs it towards the battle he can just about see in front of him.

His hand automatically strays to the grapple gun on his belt but there’s no point. Metropolis is all clean lines and sleek buildings, there’s no place for his grapple to hook on. It leaves him moving only on foot, and he grits his teeth as he barrels forward.

He sees Diana and Dick first, Dick currently struggling with a group of what looks like miniature robots, no doubt one of Luthor’s inventions. Diana is caught up with Wilson, and his large shining swords twist and twirl as he charges at her.

Bruce has the urge to intervene, especially with Dick, but he puts that aside as he sees Clark getting thrown into a nearby building and he drops to the ground in a heavy heap. Bruce quickly starts towards him, dodging falling rubble and avoiding the large piles of it on the ground around him. He reaches Clark swiftly, dropping to a crouch as he pushes Clark over onto his back.

He’s bleeding, is the first thing Bruce sees, and his eyes go wide as he sees that Clark is covered in large open wounds, and if he’s not mistaken he can see the slight green tinge of kryptonite glowing on the edges of them.

“What the hell,” he mutters as he reaches out to touch them, but his hand barely graces Clark’s chest before a shadow falls over them and Bruce is looking up to see Luthor hovering above in a horrendously large suit that has the same green glow of kryptonite.

“Like what you see, Batman?” Luthor calls out from where his head is barely seen at the top of the armour. “You gave me such wonderful ideas with that exoskeleton of yours. Kryptonite might be hard to source, but once it’s chemistry is known it’s not too hard to reproduce.” He grins, and it’s manic. “I have the knowledge of a thousand worlds. Kryptonite is easy.”

Bruce stands up and moves to put himself between Luthor and Clark. He can hear Clark moving around behind him, the heavy breathing a sign of exhaustion, and Bruce squares his jaw.

“Kryptonite may work on Superman, Luthor,” he yells back as he reaches back for his grappling gun. “But it won’t work on me.”

With a quick fluid movement, Bruce fires his grappling gun straight at Luthor where he floats in the air. With luck, it hits the edges of his armour on his shoulder and Bruce is flinging himself towards him as he pulls out his taser gun from his belt. Luther lets out a yelp as Bruce lands on his shoulders, his legs spread and knees bent to keep his balance, and he throws his hand forward to shove the taser right into Luthor’s neck.

He doesn’t get to though as one of Luthor’s hands catches his leg and throws Bruce clear off him. Bruce slams to the ground with a staggering grunt, the padding in his suit saving him from most of the blow but still winding him. He grits his teeth and forces himself to get up, moving just in time as Luthor slams to the ground and swipes at him with a large hand.

Bruce dodges the blow, throwing himself backwards and to his feet before running at Luthor again. He’s got no chance of getting through Luthor’s armour, leaving only his head as the weak point, and he hops onto a large piece of debris before flinging himself back at Luthor.

Another arm comes flying at him, but Bruce takes it in his stride as he clings to the arm and scrabbles up on top of it. He notes as he goes the jagged edges of the suit’s knuckles, and the green glow is brightest there. Of course. That’s how Clark is covered in so many wounds. Weaponised parts of the suit are made from kryptonite.

With a yell, Bruce jumps from the suit’s arm to Luthor’s shoulder again. He dodges the man’s wild arms as he tries to catch him, and Bruce is focussed more on holding on like a damn rodeo show to actually get a hold of his taser again.

He almost goes flying though when Clark suddenly comes from nowhere and slams straight into Luthor, sending all three of them flying into the nearby building. Luckily Luthor’s suit takes most of the impact as Bruce latches his legs around Luthor’s neck and swings himself so he’s sideways and holding onto the front of Luthor’s left arm, avoiding Clark who’s pressed to Luthor’s chest and the giant bloody building behind them.

“I’m right here, Superman!” Bruce bellows and Clark looks up at him in surprise, and if Bruce isn’t wrong he can see a clouded look in Clark’s eyes. Great. The kryptonite must be affecting his senses.

He pushes at Clark with a strong hand and swings back up to Luthor’s head. The man is letting out a series of mutters as he struggles, part of him stuck in the building, and Bruce takes the opportunity to slam his taser right into Luthor’s neck.

It’s satisfying seeing the man wither and shake as the electricity courses through him, and Luthor falls unconscious as Bruce holds the taser to his skin for longer than necessary just to ensure the man is actually out for the count. It needs to be done and, as soon as Luthor is out of commission, Clark rips Luthor off the wall and drops him and Bruce back to the ground.

“Thanks,” Clark says the moment Bruce is off Luthor and beside him. “That was getting a bit tricky there.”

Bruce is tempted to reply, to at least tell Clark to sit down before he faints, but a sharp yell from across the way has Bruce on high alert. He knows that yell, and without thinking he turns and tears across to help Dick as he disappears behind the mob of robots.

Without a hitch, Bruce rips an EMP grenade from his belt and lobs it as he goes. It lands just shy of the robots but it’s enough to catch their attention before it sets off. Immediately all the robots start to convulse as blue electricity courses along their limbs, and Bruce feels some of his worry leave as Dick rolls out from amongst the group.

Bruce skids to a halt at Dick’s side, resisting the urge to run his hands over him to make sure he’s okay, and he just nods at Dick before the two leap back into the fray. Dick’s escrima sticks mixed with Bruce’s powerful blows means it’s easy to disarm and dismember the robots as they convulse. Bruce and Dick’s gloves are thankfully resistant to the electricity still flickering on the outside of the robots, and soon they’re just littered pieces around them.

“Where’s Supes?” Dick asks the moment the last bot has dropped, and Bruce turns his head to look for him as Dick continues. “He’s looking pretty bad. I think we need to get him out of here.”

Bruce doesn’t deny it, but when his eyes lock on to where he was before he loses his breath. Clark’s kneeling amongst the rubble with his head in his hands and what Bruce thought was an incapacitated Luthor is charging towards Clark with a half working suit.

“Shit,” Bruce swears before he takes off again, tearing back across the rubble towards Clark. He yells his name, screams out for Superman, but a delirious Clark only spreads his fingers to look at Bruce between them and is clearly unaware of the fast approaching Luthor.

Bruce lets out a shout as he charges, and Luthor is just about on top of Clark when Bruce slams into him, sending them both rolling across the ground as Luthor’s kryptonite fists come smashing down right where Clark was. Luther turns with his own roar, fury evident in his eyes as he starts to rant at them, but Bruce doesn’t pay Luthor any attention as he drags Clark off to the side. He’s a heavy deadweight and Bruce struggles as Luthor follows them while he monologues until he’s practically right on top of them.

Thankfully Dick comes out of nowhere, rushing forward and scaling Luthor’s suit easily, and he distracts Luthor long enough for Bruce to tug Clark one more meter and store him behind some rubble. He’s not moving beside small groans, but there’s no time to look after him as Bruce turns back to the fight. He sprints forward to climb Luthor himself, although much less graceful than Dick, and, with a fury he hasn’t felt in ages, he throws punch after punch into Luthor’s distracted face until Luthor is silenced and the suit starts to collapse. Dick pulls Bruce away to avoid the mighty crash, the two bouncing off as dust fills the air.

They hit the ground in a heap, panting where they lie for a moment. Bruce can feel aches along his body, not use to enemies with heavy resistance. Punching robots is hard when there’s no give to them.

“What happened to too much violence makes us the bad guys, huh?” Dick mutters from beside him, and Bruce snorts.

“Whatever happened to there being good in this world?” he shoots back, and Dick let’s out a noncommittal noise before he rolls to his feet and pushes Bruce into moving as well.

“Come on. I’ve got this,” Dick reassures him as Bruce gets up with a pained groan. “I’ll finish off Luthor. Go make sure Superman is alright.”

He doesn’t wait for Bruce’s confirmation as he turns and climbs over the rubble to the moaning Luthor. Bruce watches him go before snapping himself out of it and rushing back to Clark’s side. He’s still there, thankfully, and still looking just as broken as Bruce had left him. There’s no one around, most of the observers pushed back far enough from the battle that there’s not a person in sight, and Bruce pulls off one of his gloves as he reaches out to cup Clark’s face, feeling for his weak pulse as well.

“Talk to me, Kent,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low despite the solitude. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

Clark lets out a small groan before his eyes flutter half open. “I can’t…” he starts to say before it seems the breath is taken from his lungs. He scrunches up his face in pain before trying again. “Kryptonite on my wounds.”

“I know,” Bruce reassures him. “How do I help?” He swears at himself for having to ask. He’d been so busy figuring out ways to put Superman down if he got out of control that he never thought how to help Clark when he’s trying to save him.

“Just…” and Clark is starting to sweat, his breathing heavy and ragged and Bruce is about to yell for Diana or Dick. Clark grips his bare hand though, pulling it away from his face to settle on top of Clark’s chest and he pats a few times. “Clean the wounds,” he manages to get out before his face twists into one of sheer agony and a horrid cry falls from his mouth.

Of course, that makes sense, and Bruce quickly reaches for his cape and with a quick pull he rips some of the fabric off. There’s no water around, and he’s just about to yell out for Dick when suddenly a shoddy half broken bowl with murky water in it is being shoved towards him.

Without a word of exchange, Bruce takes the bowl from Diana and dips the makeshift cloth into it before pressing it into the largest wound on Clark’s chest. It’s going to hurt, and he can hear Clark’s breathing growing more and more ragged with pain, but he has to try and scrape the kryptonite from Clark’s wounds. He can hear Diana moving around until she’s kneeling at Clark’s side and murmuring away to him softly as she brushes his hair and coaxes him through breathing, but Bruce can’t pay them any attention as he slowly cleans all the leftover kryptonite residue from Clark’s wounds.

It takes a while, Diana has to go for water a second time and that’s when Bruce takes a moment to search for Dick. He’s standing over an unconscious Luther and an angry but firmly contained Wilson, but the moment Diana is back Bruce’s attention is back on Clark. By the time he’s finished cleaning all the residue from Clark’s wounds, the man has finally stopped trembling and his sweats have started to subside, but he’s still not healing quickly enough despite the lack of kryptonite.

“Sun,” Bruce suddenly mutters and he shoves Diana to the side as he reaches down to scoop Clark up into a bridal carry. Clark is limp in his arms, mumbling something under his breath as Bruce carries him through the rubble towards the streaming sunlight just a few metres away, and when Bruce glances down he can see Clark looking up at him through thick eyelashes with tired eyes.

Neither say a word though as Bruce slowly settles down to his knees on the ground in the sunlight, cradling Clark’s body as he angles him to get the full brunt of the sun. He hears Clark gasp, a tremble run through his body, and then Bruce is watching as his wounds start to stitch together at a ridiculously fast pace. What should’ve taken weeks of healing is repairing itself right in front of Bruce’s eyes, and it’s honestly nothing short of a miracle.

“Thank you,” Clark suddenly says, and that jars Bruce from watching the wounds close to see Clark looking up at him through wider eyes. He looks more awake, none of the fog covering his eyes this time, and Bruce almost smiles down at him.

“Imagine how much my reputation would have fallen if I’d let Superman die again?” Bruce asks, trying to make light of the situation rather then getting sucked into too many sincerities, and the smile he gets from Clark is ridiculous.

“What reputation is that?” Clark shoots back, and Bruce can’t stop the twitch of his lips as he shakes his head. Clark has a point, and Bruce wonders if maybe Clark could actually do some pieces on Batman. Just so he doesn’t continue to be labeled as a horrible vigilante by everyone.

Questions for later. Instead of asking them Bruce moves to a crouch as he sits Clark up a little higher so the man is leaning his shoulder against Bruce’s chest. He’s holding himself up mostly now though, the sun clearly charging him up the longer he’s in it, and soon Clark is smiling brightly at Bruce.

“Thank you,” he says again, and Bruce just nods. He doesn’t say anything back, it’s not appropriate. Sure, in the months or so since the charity ball they’ve actually started to communicate, Clark addressing Bruce directly for check-ins, it doesn’t mean they’re friends.

So he stays quiet, and Clark looks a little put out as he glances away. The silence is heavy and thick, and Bruce wonders if maybe he should say something only for Clark to shift in his grip as he rises to his knees and turns to face him.

Clark’s eyes have an intensity momentarily before he pats Bruce’s knee and pushes himself to his feet. Bruce, trying not to feel unbalanced himself, rises with him and holds out hands to keep Clark from dropping again. It doesn’t seem to matter though as the man is steady enough to turn and look for the others.

Diana is standing nearby, watching the two of them with a curious gaze, but when Clark looks her way her face lights up in a brilliant smile. Dick isn’t too far behind her, still hovering over the two villains but also micromanaging the police crowding around him.

“Looks like Clark Kent has a story to sell,” Clark murmurs to him, and he flashes Bruce a brilliant smile. “I think maybe it’s time to label Batman as a bit of a hero, huh?”

Bruce doesn’t get to reply as Clark claps him on the shoulder before taking off into the air, bursting away over the damaged rooftops to no doubt change into his Clark Kent gear. Bruce will never understand how the glasses thing manages to be an appropriate disguise, but he’s not gonna argue with it.

He raises a hand to Diana, who inclines her head back in response before she too takes one look at the police and promptly disappears. Bruce is just about to follow behind her but pauses to catch Dick’s eye. Dick just nods at him briefly though, clearly having a good handle on the situation, and Bruce feels pride for the kid before he too takes off back to the Batmobile.

The moment he’s in the safe confines of his car he relaxes back into his seat, but for some reason he can’t quite shake the feeling of Clark lying in his arms. The places Clark’s hands had gripped him still tingle, and Bruce squares his jaw as he tries to shake off the damn feeling.

It doesn’t work, and Bruce glares the whole way home.

The day that Lois Lane breaks up with Clark Kent was never a day that Bruce thought he’d have to deal with.

He’d been expecting it for a while, admittedly. His conversations with Lane had become less frequent, and what conversations they did have sounded hesitant on her part. Bruce applauds her willingness to continue giving him updates on Clark’s state post-resurrection, but her tendency to sound like a loved-up teenager at times had started to grind his gears.

Maybe it was out of jealousy. After all, the closest thing Bruce had to a relationship was with Sally Gerdal when he was six years old. Listening to Clark and Lane’s domestic bliss had definitely hit some nerve Bruce had buried long ago, and really he doesn’t want that nerve to resurface, especially since it will no doubt rise with a vengeance.

He hears news of the break up from Lane first. It momentarily scares the hell out of him. He’s in the middle of a conference with his board members when his private phone lights up with a phone call. Everyone in the room freezes at the noise, knowing that Bruce never takes phone calls in the middle of a conference, let alone on his personal phone.

The only people with access to that number are Alfred and his boys, and considering Alfred is downstairs in the building cafeteria, Tim is currently asleep after three nights straight of patrol, Jason hasn’t contacted Bruce in months, and Dick is sitting right in front of him, Bruce has no idea who the hell it is.

The only other time it’d lit up when it wasn’t any of those four was when Diana got the number from Alfred to inform Bruce that Barry was five seconds away from outing his secret identity to the whole of Central City just to get Captain Cold to stop destroying the place and killing people, and from that call alone Bruce had managed to snag Victor on his way to Central City to stop Barry and Captain Cold.

In any case, Bruce picks up his phone and nods at his board members, excusing himself silently as he takes the still ringing phone into the hallway. It doesn’t surprise him that Dick follows him out, and he crowds in close to Bruce as he answers the phone.

“Yes?”

“Bruce? Bruce is that you?” Lane’s frantic voice comes over the line immediately, and Bruce frowns.

“Ms. Lane?” he asks, and he gets a quick affirmative back. “How did you get this number?”

“I spoke to your butler. Alfred?” she responds, and she sounds harried and panicked, and Bruce doesn’t like that at all. “It doesn’t matter. You have to help me. Clark’s gone missing.”

That grabs Bruce’s attention, and he straightens his back and exchanges a wide-eyed look with Dick. “What do you mean missing?”

There’s some rustling and heavy breathing before Lane replies. “He’s gone missing. As in I don’t know where he is. I can’t find him at all and I’m really worried, Bruce.” Bruce is about to ask why when she lets out a sob and continues. “I broke up with him. I couldn’t… I can’t handle all of this worrying anymore and I expected him to fight or disagree but all he did was just nod and disappear.”

“Ms. Lane, I can’t just take him disappearing after your break up as a serious situation,” Bruce tries to say gently, wincing as her sobbing starts to get louder. “If Clark wants to be alone then-”

“He has kryptonite on him.”

That pulls Bruce up short, and he hears Dick suck in a horrified breath beside him. “What?” he asks, wondering if he just misheard her, and when he doesn’t get anything back but a few more tears he grits his teeth. “Lois. What are you saying?” he demands angrily.

“I had a kryptonite ring,” she manages to blubber out, and that makes Bruce’s veins freeze cold. “I stole it from Lex Luthor last time he was at one of those laboratory parties he’s always throwing before his latest arrest. I meant to bring it to you after I wrote up the story, but I kept forgetting.” She takes a deep bracing breath, and every second that ticks by has Bruce’s worry spiking. “I just went to find my earrings and it was gone. The only other person who knew about it was Clark, and it’s been hours now and I have no idea where he could’ve gone and-”

“Lois,” Bruce interrupts, dread over the whole situation settling in. “I’m going to hang up now. We will find him, but you need to calm down. I’m going to send someone over to see you and to keep you in the loop, but I need to go now.”

“Please just find-”

Bruce doesn’t even let her finish her sentence before he hangs up the phone, and he turns to Dick who looks just as shellshocked as Bruce feels at the moment. What a hell of a situation.

“You’re sending me?” he asks, and Bruce just looks at him. Dick lets out a deep breath before he nods. “Do you know where you’re going to be able to find him?”

“No idea,” Bruce mutters as he pockets his phone and taps his watch a few times. A screen pops up out of it with the Justice League symbol on it. “I need to let the others know. I have no idea what Kent is capable of, and I can’t guarantee he won’t do something stupid. The more people looking for him the better.”

“I’ll excuse us to the board then head around to Lane’s,” Dick informs him, already heading back to the conference, and Bruce just gives him a distracted wave as he turns to walk to the elevators, already tapping out a message to all Justice League members.

As soon as it’s sent, he sends out a message to Alfred to get the car started. He’ll start by using the radar in the back of the car, see if he can pick up any traces of kryptonite in America before potentially breaching the idea of global. He knows that Clark has the tendency to head somewhere winterish whenever having a crisis, the Himalayans and Antarctica that Bruce knows of. Hopefully, Clark won’t have headed that way.

Bruce also vaguely remembers seeing the design for a kryptonite ring in Luthor’s files the time he was invited to one of Luthor’s parties when he stole the man’s entire network, but he didn’t think the man would have enough to actually create one considering Bruce stole all of it. Clearly, he hadn’t though after the kryptonite suit and now the ring.

Any amount of kryptonite can be deadly, depending on how it’s used, and Bruce doesn’t want to think the worst of Clark but really? He has nothing else to go on.

Thankfully when he’s at the bottom of the elevator he can already see Alfred idling the car outside the doors, and if it wouldn’t damage his reputation he’d be sprinting to the car. Instead, he plastered on a smile for the many people lurking in the foyer of the building before sliding into the back of his car smoothly and elegantly. Alfred greets him politely while the door is open but pulls away from the curb as soon as it’s shut, and Bruce couldn’t be more stoked with the man as he doesn’t ask a single question.

With a few quick button presses a small screen rises up from the centre console, and Bruce swipes across until he reaches the radar. He types in the code for kryptonite locating, and within seconds there are three large blips on the map and a handful of small blips.

He can write off two of the big blips, recognising one as the lake house and the other as Luthor’s labs. The third one is in the middle of the damn Atlantic ocean, and that’s something Bruce tags for later investigation. He turns his attention to the other blips, growing large as he zooms in on them.

There’s one in Central City that he sends the coordinates to Barry for. Another one looks like it’s in Victor’s lab, and Bruce sends him a query over that. There’s a sort of medium-sized blip in another part of Gotham that Bruce recognises as the docks, and he calls forward for Alfred to ring Tim and get him on the scene. The other two blips are smaller than the rest, and Bruce doesn’t think the ring will have that small of blip until he realises one blip is in the middle of Metropolis where their fight with Lex Luthor took place, which no doubt left severe traces of kryptonite everywhere, and the other one is in the middle of Kansas.

Within seconds Bruce is hauling up Martha Kent’s phone number and dialing it with record speed. Unfortunately, it rings and rings, and the longer it rings Bruce can feel the tension in him growing. Finally, it’s picked up though, and Bruce almost jumps the gun of greetings as Martha Kent’s voice comes across the line.

“Hello, Martha speaking.”

For a brief moment that throws Bruce for a loop, unable to function past the similar name as his own mother, before he shakes his head and clears his throat.

“Yes, Mrs. Kent?” he replies, and she hums an affirmative. “This is Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Bruce Wayne?” she repeats, and Bruce is about to reply when her voice drops to a conspiratory whisper. “Is everything okay? You’re not in danger are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Bruce confirms quickly. “Not in any danger, I assure you.”

“Oh good. What can I do for you, Mr. Wayne?” she asks cheerfully, and Bruce takes a moment to enjoy hearing the woman sound happy. Unfortunately, most times he’s seen her she’s not been in the best of ways, so it’s a pleasant moment he lingers on.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he finally continues, unwilling to break her good mood. “But I’m currently looking for your son. He’s… well, he’s gone missing and we’re attempting to find him. There’s a possibility he may be a danger to himself, ma’am.”

“Danger to himself?” Mrs. Kent repeats. “I don’t know. He was only here a moment ago and he’s just gone down to see his father before having supper with me in an hour or two.” She pauses for a long moment. “There did seem something off about him though. Is there anything that I can do for him?”

“Unfortunately his relationship with Lois Lane has just… ended,” Bruce hesitates to explain, and when she gasps on the other end it admittedly makes him nervous. “He potentially has some kryptonite on him that could do some damage if it’s not managed properly, and with the current space that Clark is in, I worry he may make a mistake.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Mrs. Kent-"

“Martha, please.” 

“-if it wouldn’t be too much of an intrusion, would it be possible for me to meet Clark at your home?” He’s unsure of the woman’s response. He doesn’t know as much about Martha Kent as he should, especially for use in this current situation as an example, and he’s ready for the woman to deny him right then and there. From what he’s heard, Martha Kent may support her son in his Superman endeavours, but she’s also fiercely protective.

“I think that might be best,” she replies surprisingly, and Bruce blinks stupidly. “I love my son, but even I can acknowledge when I might be out of my depth. I’ll make sure he stays around for you. Do you know roughly when you will arrive?”

Bruce glances forward to see they’re just outside of the city now. If he goes straight for the Batwing, he’ll make it to Kansas within the next few hours.

“Two hours, three tops,” he estimates, and Mrs. Kent thanks him before politely hanging up. Bruce squares his jaw as Alfred pulls up in front of the lake house and, without a word, he exits the vehicle and sprints his way through the door and towards the Batcave. He’s not surprised to see Tim walking the other way, already in his Robin outfit but Bruce doesn’t linger to give him more information and he leaves Alfred to fill the boy in.

Ten minutes later he’s piloting the Batwing out of the cave and tearing across the sky. His watch is beeping frantically on his wrist, no doubt messages from the League, but he ignores them for the meantime. Until he can flick on the autopilot the others will have to wait.

When he does check the messages though, it’s mainly just confirmation from the others that they’ll seek out Clark, those he quickly responds back to confirm Clark is in Kansas, and Diana isn’t the only one to send him more messages to inquire further as Barry practically lights up Bruce’s phone alone. Surprisingly Arthur drops a line to say he’ll investigate the large kryptonite readings in the Atlantic, and Bruce sends him back a thank you. Everyone is on board, and for a moment Bruce feels a sense of companionship and camaraderie as everyone works together.

He’s accurate in his timings, and at just after five o’clock, two and a half hours after takeoff, Bruce is landing in an empty field just down the way from the Kent’s home. Hopefully, no one from Smallville will see his plane as he settles it down and, hopefully, no one will come to investigate.

He’s surprised to see Mrs. Kent standing on the porch of her home as he approaches, and she looks tense with crossed arms and a frown on her face. Bruce wonders if he’s maybe landed in the wrong spot, and he braces himself for a stern telling off as he arrives at the bottom of the steps.

“He’s in his room,” Mrs. Kent says though, not a scolding at all, and Bruce frowns with her. “He hasn’t come out since he got back and I told him you were coming.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have the most sterling of relationships, Mrs. Kent,” he informs her politely, and one of her eyebrows goes up. “I’m not certain I’m really welcome but-”

“It’s my house, Mr. Wayne,” she cuts him off. “If I say you are welcome, then welcome you are.” She holds out her hand, and Bruce climbs the four steps to reach it. “Please, call me Martha.”

That makes something in Bruce’s stomach roll unpleasantly, but he pushes on a smile as he shakes her hand firmly. “Bruce,” he introduces himself, and she smiles before gesturing at the door.

“Upstairs, first door on the left,” she tells him before letting out a whistle as she descends the stairs. A dog comes sprinting out from in the house, pushing open the screen door to run to Martha’s side. It barely gives Bruce a look as the two wander off towards the barn next door, and Bruce squares his jaw before opening the door and going in to find Clark.

He makes it to the stairs inside and is about to ascend when he looks up and sees Clark already sitting on them. He’s staring down at his hands, one of them gloved with a small glowing piece of kryptonite in it, and Bruce practically flies up the steps to him.

“Clark-” Bruce starts to say, trying to sound appeasing, but he’s cut off as Clark looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and an unsettled look on his face.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he says harshly, and Bruce deflates a little. “I thought Lois would’ve called Diana. Or maybe Barry. I never thought she’d call you.”

“Did you not want her to call me?” Bruce asks hesitantly, not sure if he even wants to know the answer. Clark drops his gaze back to his hand and sighs where he sits.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I’m not sure what I want.”

Bruce purses his lips. He really should’ve sent Diana as Clark said. This is entirely out of his realm of expertise. All he wants to do is step forward and rip the damn kryptonite out of Clark’s hands and tell him to snap the hell out of it, that he’s Superman and that there’s so much more ahead of him than the end of a silly relationship. But he knows he can’t do that. That Clark is incredibly fragile right now and some tact is definitely going to be needed in this situation.

After a moments deliberation, Bruce takes another step up and nudges Clark with his shoe. Clark looks at him with surprise but wordlessly moves across the stairs for Bruce to squeeze himself down beside him. The stairway is definitely not meant for two bulky men to sit side by side, but dammit Bruce will make it work.

“For what it’s worth,” Bruce finally says after a moments silence as he wrings his hands between his knees, “I’m sorry.”

Clark huffs and shakes his head. “You don’t have to pretend like you understand, Bruce. I know all about your no-relationship policy.” He winces and turns to Bruce with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re right,” Bruce cuts him off and gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. I think the longest relationship I ever had was a max of twenty minutes.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks away from Clark. “It doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry.”

There’s another length of silence that Bruce doesn’t know how to break. His eyes are locked on the kryptonite in Clark’s hand, and he can see the effects of it on Clark. His stooped posture, trembling hands, the locked jaw. He must be in pain for how long he’s had it on him, but it’s not enough to do too much damage if Bruce can get it off him soon. The ring is smaller than Bruce expected, but he has no doubt that Luthor has much more where that came from.

“Why?”

That jolts Bruce from his thoughts, and he looks up to see Clark watching him with tired eyes. At Bruce’s frown, Clark shakes his head and glances back down at his hands as he repeats himself.

“Why don’t you have relationships?” he asks again, his voice quieter this time, and Bruce turns his own gaze to his hands as he thinks over the question. It’s not something he likes to discuss, not one to speak about his personal life freely, but he feels like if there ever were a time to talk about it that would be now.

“It’s nothing sinister,” he eventually replies, and he feels Clark shift beside him in obvious surprise. “I know that there’s been rumours in the public that refer to my parents dying and commitment issues stemming from that.” He lifts his head to stare straight forward. There’s a series of paintings on the wall in front of them, and if Bruce isn’t mistaken then most of them were clearly made by a young Clark. “It’s a lot more simple than that. Being a vigilante doesn’t offer room for other people in my life. I have my boys and Alfred, but there’s just no room for others.” He glances over at Clark. “It’s for their safety too. Already my boys have been kidnapped and-” He cuts himself off, images of Jason’s body fresh in his mind, and he feels Clark stiffen beside him.

“Diana told me about your son,” Clark says quietly. “Jason, wasn’t it?”

Bruce just nods his head, emotions thick and rising, and he clears his throat as he rubs his hands across his knees. “In any case,” he continues. “Letting someone that far into my life just isn’t an option.”

Clark hums beside him. “And if there was someone?” he murmurs. “If there was someone who was right, who you could make room for? Who suited your lifestyle?”

Bruce laughs, and he doesn’t mean it to sound so sharp. “I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible,” he says, and he genuinely believes that, as he looks at Clark. He sees the sadness in Clark’s eyes though and realises what the question is really for. He wonders if he should backtrack, give Clark an answer of hope, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“You truly believe that?” Clark asks, and Bruce sighs as he drops his head. He thinks of his boys, of Alfred, of letting people in and watching them fade out.

“I don’t know,” he ends up replying, and Clark frowns. “People come and go from your life, Clark. Maybe someone that was right at one point isn’t right now.” He looks up from his head to see Clark looking right back.

For someone so big and strong, Clark looks incredibly small as he watches Bruce for a little longer before tearing his eyes away. His gloved hand is now a fist over the kryptonite ring, and Bruce wonders just how he’s going to extract it from Clark’s grip.

“I screwed up,” Clark says hesitantly, and Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I should’ve made more room for Lois in my life. I got so swept up with being Superman that I forgot to be Clark Kent, and in the process I left Lois behind as well.”

“People change, Clark,” Bruce cuts in smoothly. “Who you were before the relationship and who you are now are probably two different people.” He waves a hand up at a family photo that must’ve been taken before Jonathan Kent died. Clark is in it, but he’s hunched over and shy for the camera. “You’re more confident now, understand your powers better, have found your niche. You’re a different person.” He glances back at Clark and shakes his head. “And from my limited experience? You shouldn’t have to make room for anyone in your life.”

“But Lois…”

Bruce sighs and reaches up to grip Clark’s shoulder tightly. “Sometimes you have to let people go to allow yourself to grow.” He squeezes and tries not to feel uncomfortable as he sees tears gathering in Clark’s eyes. “I know she’s been there for you since the start, and that you’ve gone through so much together. Breaking up doesn’t mean you can’t be friends, but it’s the healthiest thing to do. Lois needs someone who’s steady, safe, someone she can rely on.” It’s harsh words, and Bruce watches as Clark hunkers in on himself with each one. “But you need to be Superman. It’s part of who you are. Who you’ve always meant to be.”

Clark looks at him with those watery eyes, and Bruce gives him a small smile. It’s returned, and that’s all that Bruce focuses on as Clark nudges him gently with his elbow before holding out his gloved hand.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do with this,” he says quietly as he rolls the ring around his palm. “Lois was talking to me about leaving and I was, I don’t know, in a daze. I didn’t intentionally pick it up as I left. It just…

Bruce doesn’t hesitate in dropping his hand from Clark’s shoulder to reach out and pluck it from Clark’s hand. He makes a small wounded sound as Bruce does so, but Bruce doesn’t pay him any attention as he throws the ring down the stairs, hearing it clang and bounce off the ground to disappear around the corner.

The change in Clark is almost instantaneous. He straightens up, his trembling hands steady, his jaw unlocks and his eyes become more focused. Bruce feels better seeing Clark relax more, and he reaches out to tug the glove off Clark’s hand as well, throwing it at the bottom of the stairs too.

“Quit throwing things in my house, you two!” Martha’s voice comes from around the corner, the front door banging as she makes her way inside to stand at the foot of the stairs. She’s smiling though, and Bruce nods back. “Are you staying for supper, Bruce? There’s plenty to go around?”

Bruce is about to open his mouth to politely decline when Clark speaks up and over top of him.

“Yeah, Ma, he’s staying. We’ll be down in a bit, yeah?”

Martha just nods, affectionate as any mother should be, before she disappears back towards the kitchen. Bruce has half a mind to hop up now and leave, unsure if he wants to be involved in a Kent family dinner, but Clark’s hand is suddenly on his wrist and holding him down as he tries to move.

“Stay?” he asks, and Bruce is speechless as he looks at Clark, wide-eyed and gentle. “Please?”

He shouldn’t. He should leave, take the ring with him and dispose of it carefully. Should fly back to Gotham and return to his patrol on the city. Ignore what happened here, close himself back off, not tell a damn soul about the moment he cracked open parts of his walls to let Clark bloody Kent in. He should go back to being Batman, emotionless, cold and calculating.

“Okay,” Bruce hears himself agreeing despite all that, and Clark gives him a smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and it’s not the smile that Bruce associates with Clark, but it’s enough to have Bruce settling back down on the step.

Clark doesn’t move his hand, keeps it locked around Bruce’s wrist, and Bruce feels hot under his touch. He's not used to it, not use to something so casual and content. His life is full of purpose. A hand on a shoulder for a purpose, an arm around a waist for a purpose, every touch for a purpose. Bruce Wayne doesn’t do gentle and he doesn’t do casual, so why does he let Clark hold his wrist tightly enough to be a lifeline?

He’s surprised further though when Clark lets out a small sigh before he drops his head to rest against Bruce’s shoulder. If he’s not familiar with these causal kind of touches then he’s way out of his league for something so affectionate. For a moment he tenses where he sits, his shoulders coiled and his chest thumping, but eventually, Clark’s quiet and rhythmic breathing soothes him as he starts to relax.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Clark murmurs, his head moving as he speaks and his hair brushes Bruce’s neck. Bruce can feel something in his stomach swoop, something he has no intention on dwelling on for a very long time, and he leans back against the stairs. He should answer, should say something to cut through the thickness in the air. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Bruce just reaches up to cover Clark’s hand and squeezes.

It takes some time to start recruiting more of the League.

It’s not because Bruce doesn’t know anybody to recruit. From Luthor’s files on metahumans and the files he’d pulled from Amanda Waller after her Task Force X nightmare, he has plenty of options to go after. First, he has to find a place for them all to converge, and since Diana walked with him through the old manor Bruce has been building ideas.

There’d been a request in the first place to make the location neutral, but after Bruce had sarcastically decided that the only neutral place would be space itself, and had received positive opinions back from Barry and Victor, Bruce had decided to promptly ignore the rest of the team. After all, he’s financing the bloody thing himself, and he refuses Diana’s idea of using the lake house if the manor is too much. He needs some sort of sanctuary from these people.

Clark had clapped him on the shoulder at their last meeting and told him that he has every confidence Bruce will do what’s best for the team. Following that, Clark had given him a ridiculously huge grin that had made Bruce fluster where he stood and promptly knock his mug off his desk, and Bruce adamantly refused to respond to Arthur’s teasing later when they were alone.

Eventually, Bruce decides that the old manor will be the perfect place. Victor and Clark already live nearby, Arthur can easily access the Gotham port to get close, Diana can access it without too much travel from Washington, and currently, the only other member is Barry who can bloody well run there in less time than it takes Diana to get in.

So he rebuilds the League Manor, as Barry dubs it. He keeps it quiet, thankful that the press doesn’t try to come anywhere near the manor now, and Bruce simply slaps the contractors with gag orders, and within a few months the Manor is ready and prepared to hold a group of disastrous metahumans.

The meeting room is the heart of the manor, and Bruce listens to Diana as he places a large round table directly in the middle with six chairs, leaving room for more. The others all agree it’s a fine space, and Diana, in particular, loves the restored walls. Bruce had kept it as close to the old design as possible, and there are moments when he walks into a room and remembers flashes of his childhood.

The basement is like a miniature Batcave, filled with everything the same except Bruce’s Bat-only things. He makes sure to pile it with as much advanced technology he can get his hands on, some of which he doesn’t understand at first until it takes him and Alfred a few afternoons to go through. Victor, only the other hand, takes to everything like a duck to water and he very quickly moves from the S.T.A.R labs into the manor. He practically drools at the mouth at all the new tech he’s presented with, and he doesn’t come up for days at a time unless Barry plies him with ridiculous amounts of ramen noodles and internet jokes. Bruce admits it’s pleasant to see them bonding, but the sheer sodium the two consume makes him sick.

Barry calls dibs on a room in the living wing within the first ten minutes of stepping foot in the manor, and by the end of the day it’s piled with stuff he’s dragged over from Central City. Bruce isn’t the only one cringing from a headache at the end of the day, Arthur also miserable beside him from seeing too many blurs and watching too much lighting as Barry had darted in and out. That’s the day when Bruce theory of metahumans needing more than just double doses of pain medication is confirmed.

Diana hugs Bruce tight the moment she sees her room, her bag already on her back and her work ready to move to Metropolis when she’s ready, but the armoury in the basement has her gasping with delight. Bruce had hunted down traditionally trained blacksmiths over the last month or two and personally ordered replicas of old swords and shields based on Greek myth. Potentially it’s not a myth, he realises as Diana runs a hand over a gorgon faced shield and murmurs something about Medusa, but he doesn’t think he can handle knowing that Zeus is really out there and really screwing over peoples lives by not keeping it in his pants. He has to draw a line in the sand somewhere, and Diana finds it hilarious to start confirming certain lewd myths to Bruce when he’s not expecting it.

Arthur is heavily impressed by the aquarium that Bruce had specially made, or so Diana tells him later since Arthur wouldn’t compliment Bruce even if his life depended on it. Bruce does get the gist though when Arthur drops a box of Atlantean tech on his desk and gives him a gruff nod, and Bruce spends the next few days with Victor in paradise. Arthur’s in the aquarium surprisingly often, and it’s not uncommon to turn up to the manor to see Arthur and Victor bonding in the shared peaceful space.

Then there’s Clark, and if Bruce wants to be honest with himself then it’s Clark who he’d wanted to hear from the most. He doesn’t turn up in the first few days that the manor is open, which leaves Bruce feeling a little deflated, but when Clark does come he has a pack on his back and a shy grin as he asks which way his room is.

It makes sense for him to move in, especially since he’d moved home after leaving Lane’s. Bruce shows Clark to his room and awkwardly hovers in the doorway as Clark looks around. It’s decked out with huge windows to let in the streaming sunlight, and Bruce can already see Clark’s shoulders loosening as he faces them for a long time. When he turns back to Bruce it’s with that ridiculously huge grin on his face, one that reaches his eyes and brightens his face, and Bruce is maybe starting to realise what just might be causing his flustering these days.

Alfred says it’s a crush. Bruce asks what the hell a crush is. Dick nearly cries.

After Clark gives him a bone-crushing hug in the doorway of his room with a thousand compliments on his tongue and, as Bruce feels light-headed as Clark overwhelms him, he starts to maybe get what Alfred is trying to hint at.

Once their manor is organised, the recruiting begins. It helps that Bruce and Diana have others to help them do it this time, and frankly it’s a lot less lonely. Bruce has found that to be the most surprising thing this whole time. He’s gotten use to company, use to having people to rely on.

He calls it a team, Tim laughs and says it’s just like having a family.

And yes, that had scared the hell out of him to begin with and he did slink away to the Batcave for a solid week of silence and solitude before Victor waltzed in one day with Tim beside him, clearly having been the one to let him in via the lake house, and Bruce had soon been swept away as Victor demanded a tour in the large space and three hours later Alfred disrupted them for dinner from a conversation over quantum physics.

Tim had called them nerds, and it was interesting to have someone laugh alongside him.

The first person they recruit is because of Clark. They’re in a meeting one day going through the files of metahumans that Bruce had amalgamated when Clark arrives late, bringing with him someone that Bruce instantly recognises and, were it not for his trust in Clark, would immediately be throwing out onto the damn street.

“Lieutenant General Swanwick,” Bruce greets as he stands up, moving to stand between the Secretary of Defence and the rest of his team. He glances at Clark but doesn’t see him looking at all concerned. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

Lieutenant General Calvin Swanwick looks at him for a long moment, his eyes hard and sharp, and Bruce remembers this as the man who handed Clark over to General Zod willingly without a hint of remorse. If it weren’t for Clark’s easiness he’d probably be shoving the man very quickly out of the manor and trying to figure out a way to get him to forget about every single one of his team just to keep them safe, but as it stands he waits for the other man to make the first move.

Make it he does, and Bruce watches with utter surprise along with the rest of his team as Swanwick’s skin ripples where he stands and soon the brown skin is giving way to green skin and his pupils are blowing wide and turning red, and very quickly there’s no trace of Swanwick left as a literal alien stands in front of them.

“Martian Manhunter, or J’onn J’onzz is my name,” he introduces himself, holding out a very green hand to Bruce who takes it in shock. “At your service.”

After a lot of shouting and arguing, most of it from Arthur and Victor who seem incredibly reluctant to trust the man, and Bruce finally extracting the full story from Clark and J’onn about how the hell he got to this planet from Mars of all places, J’onn is offered a seat at their table. Victor is still weary, muttering about how teleportation machines shouldn’t really work in the first place and using one from Mars without a guarantee of return is just stupid, but he does grudgingly move aside to let J’onn sit.

Diana seems to take a particular shine to him, sitting beside him at the table and filling in her own details about being away from home, the destruction that Steppenwolf laid to it. J’onn shares with her the story of the plague that took his home and family, the heart-attack that killed the scientist Erdel who brought him here, and as he tells his tale Bruce tries not to let Diana’s hand crush his as she holds it under the table.

“You don’t really trust him?” Barry asks when everyone has left and it’s just the two of them at the table, and Bruce levels him with a sharp look.

“This isn’t about trust anymore, Barry.” Bruce tightens his hands into fists and shakes his head. “This is about global security. Don’t think that Steppenwolf is going to be the worst of our worries.”

Barry pales and starts to stammer out some excuse that Bruce tunes out. He does put on a concerted face and pretends to listen to Barry, until eventually, Bruce decides enough is enough and he stands with a sigh and ruffles Barry’s hair.

“It’ll be alright, kid,” he tells Barry who groans dramatically, and Bruce tries hard to believe it himself.

It does work out alright, in the end, to have the Secretary of Defence on their team though, something no one quite realises until the Swamp Thing raised his ugly head in Houma, leading to the destruction of a third of the city in the ensuing fight. Somehow J’onn, in his Calvin Swanwick disguise, manages to smooth down all issues the government raises about rogue vigilantes and even somehow portrays them as a necessity to the justice system these days.

During the battle with Swamp Thing, something that Barry, Bruce, and Clark had all attended, they’d come across their next member. Hal Jordan, or Green Lantern as he went by, was a perfect fit to their group after his lengthy explanation about the intergalactic police force named the Green Lantern Corps and a few demonstrations with his power ring that nearly sent Clark through the damn wall. Of course, Clark had just laughed and turned that ridiculous smile on Bruce as he’d asked for Hal to join them.

Bruce had said yes.

The occasional trip to Coast City to check in on Hal leads Bruce to Star City to meet with an old acquaintance, Oliver Queen. Having known him since they were children, Bruce uses him as a place to stay as he tries to hunt down the Green Arrow character that Hal had informed him of. The rest of the team had agreed that it would be useful to include someone else on the West coast into their team. Hal covers much of the South West for them, J’onn helping him where he can from his position in LA, but if the Green Arrow were to be recruited then that would solve their problem of covering the North West of the country.

When Bruce finds out it’s Oliver himself, and when Oliver finds out he’s Batman, is quite by accident. Oliver, still welding Green Arrow’s recognisable bow, slams into Bruce’s room just as he’s stowing away the Batsuit for later use, and after a tense moment, the two burst into laughter at how ridiculous they’ve been. Oliver then comments that Bruce has clearly loosened up if he’s willing to laugh with Oliver now, and Bruce avoids all questions about there being someone in Bruce’s life.

He will not answer that question no matter what. Not even if his life depended on it.

Three new members within the span of two months and Bruce agrees with Clark when he says that its pretty good progress. Eventually they’ll gather more, but for now there’s the task of training them to fit in with the rest of the team's style. It takes a while, especially since all of them are used to fighting alone all this time, so fitting into a team unit is a new turn. It’d been hard to recover that seamless work they’d performed with Steppenwolf, but all are determined to get it back.

Hal slots in neatly enough, having joined up with the rest of the Corps previously so team work is natural to him. It only takes a few hard training sessions for him to get the gist on everyone's strengths and weaknesses, and Bruce feels a little bit of jealousy when Hal and Clark get along sterlingly. It makes sense since the two of them have the advantage of flight over the others, and when Diana and J’onn join their little group there is an initial rift between those that can fly and those that can’t. It’s soothed down though by the fact that Hal is like Clark in the sense that they’re giant walking joy germs, and staying mad at the two is almost impossible. 

Bruce is unaware of another rift until much later when Clark points it out one night as they’re both on monitoring duty, relieving Victor for a night off. Barry had become rather standoffish towards Bruce once Oliver had joined their team, and Bruce had thought it was maybe to do with the fact that him and Oliver had started lording a friendship in the public arena to cover why they spend so much time together now. No one had blinked an eye when Bruce had started to invite Oliver to more parties, and vice versa. There was a knowledge that the two spent time together as children, so moving into an adult friendship wasn’t farfetched.

What is farfetched, no matter how much Clark laughs and tries to convince him, is that Barry has a ridiculously huge crush on Oliver and visibly sees Bruce as a threat. After that Bruce had been quick to assure Barry that there was nothing going on, even though Barry tried to pretend like he didn’t know what Bruce was talking about, and Bruce can’t get rid of the sound of Clark’s howling laughter as he’d watched the awkward conversation.

So the nine of them work, they fit together, and every now and again Bruce insists on a full team training simulation. They all train by themselves, in pairs, or small groups consistently. More often than not, whenever Bruce turns up at the manor, there’s always someone down in the reinforced training rooms and Bruce enjoys watching and critiquing.

When he’s involved though, he doesn’t get the birds-eye view, so relies on recordings for analysis. Clark tells him he’s too harsh on himself, but considering Bruce was nearly knocked unconscious from a stray blow from one of Joker’s henchmen last time he got distracted, Bruce would disagree. He’s not harsh enough.

Diana sets up their next team exercise, six months down the line after Oliver had been recruited. None of them are overly thrilled to be there this time, Clark and Barry especially looking exhausted and leaning on each other as Diana gives them their brief for the simulation. They’re going to be working with Bruce’s latest robots he’d made with Victor’s assistance. Nine robots in total, all of them programmed to be the counter to one member of the team. Bruce isn’t so sure about using them, and even Victor raises a few doubts. They haven’t had much time to test the robots before use, only Victor’s one certified by their standards.

Diana doesn’t seem to mind though and she’s barely finished her last sentence before she slams the simulation starting button, the roof lighting up in red alarms as the humanoid robots come out from the walls, and Bruce looks directly at his black bot and grits his teeth as it charges straight towards him.

The team falls into an easy rhythm, the robots still only at their lowest level of difficultly. It takes Bruce moments to wrap his grappling hook around his robot and slam it to the ground, glancing up in time to see Clark land a solid punch on his one, where they’re both in the air, and sends it pelting down. It just misses Diana who’s got her robot pinned against the wall, Barry a blur beside her as he runs circles around his own, and the other five have a handle on theirs easily. It’s barely a warm-up, but Diana looks pleased with their quick work as she stands up.

“Time to ramp it up?” Diana calls, and she gets a resounding confirmation as she amps up the difficulty. She doesn’t ease them in as Bruce thought, and his eyes go wide as she spins the dial on the wall until it’s the second hardest difficulty level. 

The robot underneath Bruce starts to vibrate frantically, and Bruce quickly pulls away until his back is right up against Oliver’s. All of the robots are making a hell of a ratchet, and Bruce yells out a warning just as they burst into action.

Half the robots are in the air the moment their vibrating stops, and Bruce winces when he hears Clark and Hal both yelp as their robots charge at them with electricity coursing through jutted out prods that’ve replaced their hands. Bruce doesn’t get to focus on them though as both his and Oliver’s bots charge at the two of them and Oliver grips his wrist before pushing him away. 

Gunfire breaks out in the room, the robots almost crazed as they go from targeting just their respective heroes to everyone. Luckily the ‘gunfire’ is the equivalent of extreme paint balls, still painful when they hit you but not lethal, and Bruce grunts when one shot just skims his unprotected hand. He steps back from his advancing bot, careful of the sharp swinging arms aimed at him, and he dodges to the left as it jabs forward where his stomach was. He dodges two more blows before reaching out and slamming his armoured elbow right into the top of the bot.

He’s too busy focusing on his own that he forgets about the others, and it’s only Oliver’s sharp yell that has him dropping to the ground to avoiding the flying robot coming down on him. Oliver is at his side in a moment, dragging him up and pulling back towards where Arthur is currently locked in hand-to-hand combat with his bot. Bruce takes the opportunity to leap onto it’s back, wrapping an arm around the robot’s neck and yanking it back away from Arthur. Arthur doesn’t hesitate in landing a solid blow to the robot's core, his fist denting the metal with the sheer strength behind it, and the robot lets out a horrid sound before Bruce throws it to the side. He’s breathing hard as he turns back to the two robots Oliver and he had abandoned, and he’s sliding into position to intercept them before Clark slams down in front of them.

Both robots start to pull up, clearly trying to register the new entrant, and Bruce pushes at Oliver who quickly pulls up his bow and fires and EMP arrow straight into his green bot. Clark steps forward to intercept Bruce’s robot, hauling it over his shoulder to slam to the ground and hold there. Bruce joins him as he yanks out the rope from his belt, and with Oliver’s bot distracted, Bruce swings the rope around its chest and pulls on it, trying to haul it to the ground to join his one.

A crack of lighting has Barry suddenly on top of Oliver’s bot’s shoulders, adding his weight to push it to the ground. Bruce grunts as his rope goes slack for a moment before he pulls it tight and wraps another noose around his bot, still struggling under Clark’s arms, and Arthur comes up with his robot to add to the pile. A few tight knots and the three robots are tied together, trying to escape but unable to get past Bruce’s rope.

The five of them turn back to the room, only three robots now out of commission. J’onn is airborne with his back to Hal, three robots surrounding them with one of them being Barry’s abandoned one. Victor is locked in a wrestling match with his own to their left, and Diana is struggling with both hers and Clark’s on the other side of the room.

“Clark, help Diana,” Bruce immediately orders, and Clark doesn’t argue as he throws himself across the room to take out one of the robots, slamming it into the wall with a resounding crash. “Barry, get to Victor. Arthur,” he turns to the man with hard eyes. “Throw me.”

Oliver lets out a noise of question, but Arthur doesn’t hesitate in stepping forward and picking Bruce up with ease. Bruce clenches his hands into fists in anticipation, and within seconds Arthur lets out a horrendous roar as he throws Bruce straight into the air. He’s only airborne for a matter of seconds before he crashes straight onto Hal’s robot and sends it plummeting towards the ground with the extra weight.

They crash with Bruce letting out a grunt, although he’s managed to twist them so the bot catches the brunt of the fall. He rolls off it with only minimal pain, his chest hurting from where it slammed against the robots, but he doesn’t have to worry about it rearing towards him as Oliver and Arthur appear to distract it.

Bruce takes the moment for a much-needed breather, watching as the other four bots are matched by the four airborne heroes, and Victor is easily overpowering his robot with Barry’s assistance. Bruce slowly gets to his feet, aware of the aches spreading out across his body, and starts towards the two left on the ground. He’s the only one not locked in battle, making it easy for him to try to help whoever needs it, and he’s just about reached Barry when J’onn lets out a loud noise and tumbles downwards with his robot locked on his back.

Bruce jumps back as the two crash to the ground and Bruce lunges forward to rip the robot from J’onn’s weak spot. It takes a lot of effort, and Bruce roars as he yanks it back in time for Hal to appear out of nowhere and sweep it up to slam straight into one of the walls.

Barry’s loose robot comes tearing after him though, and J’onn reaches up with one hand and catches the robot’s leg just as Bruce pulls back and lands a solid blow to the robots head. He’s not strong enough to dent itase Arthur did, but enough to distract it as it sets it sights on Bruce where it hovers in J’onn’s grasp.

Not that it matters as Diana drops from above them, leaving Clark with their two robots, and lands heavily and directly on top of the robot Bruce is currently punching. It lets out an awful creak as it’s back plates bow in, and Bruce winces at the damage done to it.

There’s only three left after that, really. The two Clark is fighting and the one Victor and Barry are slowly overpowering. Arthur and Oliver are dragging the out of commission robots over to the three still tied up on one side of the room, Diana is assisting them with her lasso, Hal is gearing up to take on one of the robots Clark is dealing with, and Bruce rushes to help J’onn up from where he’s still lying winded on the ground.

A sudden ridiculously huge glowing hammer appears out of nowhere, and Bruce looks up in time to see Hal swinging it to meet Diana’s robot. He winces, trying to call out to Hal that that won’t work on her robot, but he can’t be heard as the robot turns it’s sights on Hal and attacks him at close range.

“Diana!” Bruce yells over the racket as he watches the robot’s hands reach around Hal’s neck. “Help him!”

Diana glances up from where she’s locked in a wrestle with a not-quite out of commission robot, but Oliver takes her place as she throws herself into the air to intercept Hal and Barry’s robot. Bruce grits his teeth as Barry appears at his side, taking J’onn from his arms, and he chases across the room towards Clark. He’s locked into as tight a combat with his robot as he can, and it doesn’t take much for Bruce to see that Clark is being overpowered slowly by his bot. Clearly Bruce made the difficulty too hard, especially if Clark is struggling in combat, and he pauses as he tries to find a way to help him.

He’s in the air though, and Bruce’s grappling gun is currently lying on the ground underneath some robots and Arthur is busy wrestling them all into line that Bruce can’t get any assistance from him.

“Clark!” he shouts, cupping his hands over his mouth. He winces when Clark glances down and gets promptly punched in the face. “Bring it to the ground! I can help you here!”

Clark looks like he’s about to shout back but the robot tackles his response out of him. He does listen though as the wind drops out of his sails and he plummets with the robot still tackled to his chest. Clark pulls up at the last second though, and Bruce charges forward with a batarang in hand.

The moment he’s within reaching distance he flings out a hand and wrenches the robot’s head back. It’s been built with Superman’s strength in mind though, and the robot just reaches out and catches Bruce’s wrist, dragging him down and twisting his arm up behind his back. Clark lets out a growl and Bruce feels the hand be physically removed, the sound of crunching metal making him wince. Bruce drops onto his back and rolls to the side as the robots feet come smashing down on the ground, and he takes the opportunity to reach out and slam the corner of the batarang right into the robot’s ankle joint. It fizzles and spits sparks back at Bruce, but it doesn’t do much to slow it down.

Clark continues to wrestle the thing to the ground, glancing at Bruce with wide eyes at once point, until he’s all but lying on top of it. Bruce surges to his knees and rushes forward, the batarang still clenched tightly in his hand. He remembers the design of this thing, the majority of it’s wires underneath it’s chest plate. He can slow it down with a well placed wire shortage and an explosive EMP grenade under it’s plate will do the trick, blowing most of it to pieces and short-circuiting whatever is left.

“Hold it tight,” he growls out to Clark who gives him a nod as he struggles to pin the struggling robot down. Bruce raises the batarang and slams it into the neck joint, cringing as a shock hits his hand from the cut wires. It stings but he doesn’t acknowledge it as he reaches for the lone EMP grenade on his belt.

He darts forward, ripping up as much of the chest plate as possible before pulling the pin and slamming the grenade in there. The robot convulses for a moment, Clark’s grip on it tight, but Bruce slams into him and rolls the two of them away just as the EMP explodes.

Bruce flings out his cape, covering both him and Clark as pieces of robot rain down around them. He grunts as what feels like an arm smacks down on his back, pushing him into Clark’s chest more, but besides that they come off relatively unscathed. He keeps the cape over them for a little longer though, keeping his head pressed to Clark’s collarbone as he waits for the sound of robot parts hitting the floor to end, then he waits another few moments more.

Finally, Bruce pushes himself up off Clark as he looks for danger. He yanks his cowl off his head as he counts the rest of his team, Barry and J’onn floating in the air, Diana standing protectively over Oliver and Hal with her shield out, Victor with his back turned to the explosion, and Arthur holding the end of Diana’s lasso that’s keeping the rest of the robots contained. Bruce lets out a huff of relief as he sits back on his knees.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite realise that he’s sitting between Clark’s parted legs, and as Clark pushes himself up to face him Bruce hopes desperately that the flush on his cheeks can be counted as from exertion.

“Those are some decent robots, Bruce,” Clark says as he cracks his neck before turning that ridiculous gin on Bruce. “I’m impressed.”

“I hadn’t tested the difficulty levels yet in the simulator,” Bruce mutters under his breath. “I didn’t realise how powerful they are.”

He jumps as Clark drops a hand on his shoulder, and he glances up to see Clark incredibly close. “Nah,” he disagrees happily, and his eyes are stupidly bright. “I think a challenge is what we all needed. We don’t want to get complacent.”

Bruce is, admittedly, speechless as Clark gets closer and closer. For one insane moment he thinks he’s leaning in for something more, but all thoughts of that go out the window as Clark just drops his forehead to Bruce’s shoulder instead.

“You guys alright?” Diana asks as she comes closer, her eyes disturbingly observant, and Bruce doesn’t rise to her smug look. “That robot was deceptively strong.”

“Nothing Bruce and I can’t handle,” Clark says, his voice completely muffled. Bruce tries to ignore Clark’s hair tickling his cheek, but he ends up hyper fixating on it instead as he tries not to make eye contact with Diana. If anything, Diana looks even more smug as she agrees with Clark.

The others start to move around, Hal turning off the simulation on the wall, Victor dragging the robots out of the room, J’onn dropping Barry back on the ground for Oliver to fuss over. Bruce wants Diana to turn around and get all smug about that, but he remembers pointing it out to Diana weeks ago and her shrugging it off as old news. Arthur looks just as satisfied as he winks at Bruce, and Bruce refuses to blush as he reaches up to push Clark back off him.

Clark lets out a moan of refusal that sends something straight to Bruce’s crotch, and he lets go of Clark immediately as Diana visibly tries to smother a laugh behind her hand. She takes a few steps backwards before reuniting with the others, her shoulders shaking.

“Come on, Clark,” Bruce growls at him, tapping him awkwardly. “We need to get down to medical and let J’onn check us over.”

“Don’t wanna,” Clark protests, and Bruce can feel his ears starting to burn as Clark shuffles in closer to him, his breath ghosting across his chin. Bruce wants to wriggle uncomfortably away but the other part of him doesn’t want to disrupt Clark at all and forces him to stay still.

Eventually though Clark lets out a huff and pulls away, already smiling as he looks down at Bruce from that inch height difference. It’s not much, but Bruce feels his fingers itching to pull Clark down just that little bit and just…

“Medical?” Bruce manages to say, his voice that little bit too husky, but thankfully Clark just nods his head before untangling himself from Bruce. He stands up easily before offering a hand and Bruce takes it, letting himself be pulled up to bump chests with Clark. It’s all so much, and Bruce can feel something regretful hanging on his tongue, but luckily Clark only squeezes his hand and turns to lead the remaining members of the team out the door.

Bruce trails after him, still red eared and embarrassed, and as he passes by Barry, the young man gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Can I play the viola at your wedding?” he asks cheerily, and Bruce glares at him. “I can start practicing the wedding march now.”

Barry lets out a yelp as Bruce slaps him with his cowl, muttering something unpleasant about Bruce. Not that he cares as he pushes the kid straight into Oliver.

“Shut up, Barry,” he mutters as he walks past, and Oliver laughs at his retreating back.

Really, it had all been Bruce’s fault that Clark Kent gets kidnapped.

He hadn’t thought through the situation at all, so wrapped up in all that’s Clark Kent that he hadn’t realised the dangers of taking Clark for a rooftop tour of Gotham city in his Batman suit when Clark wasn’t in his Superman one. He was just Clark Kent, Metropolis news reporter, out at night with Batman.

Bruce really really hates himself for not thinking.

It all started a few days previous of course. After the team exercise debacle Bruce has tried to distance himself from the manor. Just to cool off, was his reasoning, and he ignores the hell out of Oliver every time he leaves a teasing message on Bruce’s phone, especially the one with Barry cooing in the background. He hates his teammates. They’re all horrible people.

He’s stupid to think he can get away with avoiding them though when he’s sitting in the Batcave, doing just some catch up Batman related errands, mainly running tests around the large hunk of Kryptonite Tim found down on the docks, when the elevator lets out a hiss and Tim walks in showing Clark bloody Kent into the cave with a particularly shit-eating grin on his face.

“Tim!” Bruce snaps, glaring at the kid. “What did we say about the Batcave?”

Tim blinks at him for a moment before shrugging. “Too be honest?” he replies. “I listen to about fifty percent of what comes out of your mouth, Bruce. Dick’s the one you wanna ask that question to.”

With that he turns around and promptly heads back to the elevator, leaving Bruce sitting with his mouth open and Clark shifting awkwardly on his feet as he shyly looks at the ground. It shouldn’t be adorable, and Bruce should not even be thinking the word adorable, but dammit Clark Kent continues to shift Bruce’s world every time he sees him.

Bruce doesn’t say anything though, just watches as Clark meanders over towards the large piece of kryptonite. It goes to show how much trust they’ve built up that he doesn’t question it, and Bruce quickly returns back to his computer to continue his other tasks when Clark turns back to him.. He can hear Clark shuffling behind him, clearly unsure of what to do, and Bruce sighs as he drops his head to look at the keyboard.

“There’s a spare chair to my left if you want it,” he grumbles. He knows Clark’ll hear him no matter what pitch his voice is at, and when Clark pulls the chair up right beside him he feels himself tensing slightly. This is stupid, he thinks. Having this kind of reaction to Clark is childish.

“What’re you doing?” Clark asks, breaking the tense silence, and Bruce almost jumps as Clark’s breath curls around his ear. “Batsy stuff?”

“Of a sort,” Bruce replies, tempted to actually pull all the screens down so Clark doesn’t see them. It’s too late though as Clark leans past him to frown at the screen Bruce is typing on, clearly matching it to the pictures on the screens above it. Bruce tenses, waiting for whatever deduction Clark pulls from them all, before he startles when Clark reaches past him to cover his hand.

“Are these…” Clark starts to say before pushing his hand forward to jab at the screen. “Are those all children?”

Bruce grits his teeth as he pushes away Clark’s hand. “Orphans, yes,” he responds, and he hears Clark’s sharp intake of breath.

“All of them?” he asks weakly, and Bruce drops his hands from the keyboard to his lap as he turns in his chair to face Clark. He looks horrified, and Bruce knows it’s because he’s counting how many there are.

“Yes,” Bruce says honestly. “They’re all orphans, or close enough.” He turns his head to look at the screen before sighing and dropping his head as Clark looks at him with wide eyes. “You’ll recognise some of them.” He points at one of the screens that has Tim’s face on it. “Tim Drake. He just showed you in.” He moves his finger to another. “Dick Grayson. You know him as Nightwing.”

“I thought you were their father?” Clark mutters with a frown, and Bruce almost laughs at the absurdity of him having a biological child. That would involve letting someone in, someone past his barriers.

“Adoptive,” he explains offhandedly, and Clark slowly nods his head as he pulls away to lean back into his chair. His gaze is intense when he looks back at Bruce, and Bruce almost shivers under it.

“How did their parents die?” Clark asks, and Bruce feels a surge of panic as he thinks about why at least one of them is an orphan. Clark looks at him imploringly though, and Bruce rolls his shoulders before turning back to the screens and pulling up individual pictures on the screen he’d been typing on.

“Richard Grayson,” he starts off. “His parents were part of the trapeze act in the circus and were killed in a freak accident.” Jason is the next photo up, and Bruce pauses long enough for Clark to drop a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “Jason Todd. His mother was forced to give him up when his father remarried, only for his stepmother to overdose and his father crossed Two-Face one too many times.” His throat feels thick after the explanation and he has to clear it before continuing, shaking off Clark’s hand. “Tim Drake. His parents were both CEOs of Drake Industries. His mother was taken captive and poisoned by a competitor on a business trip in the Caribbean, and his father was murdered by Captain Boomerang a few months later.” He omits that he was suppose to save Tim’s mother, that he almost did, that the poisoned water she drank wouldn’t have been necessary if he’d gotten there just seconds earlier. Bruce grits his teeth for the next one as a young boy pops up. “Diego Santos, father Cesar Santos.” He hears Clark gasp behind him.

“Bruce, is that-“

“Father killed in prison, mother currently a prostitute with barely a roof over their heads.” He can feel the muscles in his face twitching, too much emotion running through him as he looks at the little boy he’s never met. His father’s death was a necessary evil, even if he’ll never know why.

"Bruce…” Clark murmurs behind him, his voice soft, and Bruce knows if he turns to face him he’ll be showing too many cracks.

But Clark doesn’t need to share in Bruce’s burdens.

“Barbara Gordon, Commissioner Gordan’s niece,” he continues after clearing his throat. “Her parents died in a car crash caused by her fathers alcoholism when she was thirteen.” Another young girl pops up, one that Bruce remembers very clearly stepping between himself and her father. “Zoe Lawton, Deadshot’s daughter. He’s in prison and her mother was killed by the father of one of Deadshot’s victims.” Another click and a young girl he remembers saving from a falling building pops up. “Sage O’Hara. No father in the picture and her mother was killed when the Wayne Financial Building collapsed during the Black Zero Event.”

“The Black Zero…” Clark interrupts behind him, and his voice sounds raw enough Bruce turns to see him white face and horrified. “I orphaned her?”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say, speechless for once as he tries to figure out a polite way to say that technically yeah, Clark did, but it’s not like he intended on it. Freak events happen. Clark was never to know.

“She’s okay now,” Bruce says instead, and Clark shakes his head slowly before looking at Bruce. Bruce reaches out to grasp Clark’s wrist tightly and shakes it. “That’s what they’re all on this list for. They’re okay. The Martha Wayne Children’s Protection Fund covers all of them. They’re orphans, but they’re safe.”

“You pay for all of them?” Clark asks from where his mouth is smothered behind one of his hands. He peeks out from between his fingers at Bruce. “All of these orphans?”

There’s more. More than the six he’s read aloud, but Bruce slowly nods. “I was an orphan too, Clark,” he tries to explain, the words surprisingly easy to say. “I know what it was like to not have family. I never had to worry about money or shelter or family. I had this house, Alfred, everything I needed. I can’t let this kids go without.”

“But you didn’t have your parents,” Clark points out, and that hits something heavy in Bruce’s chest. “Some criminal took your parents away from you, just like some of these kids.” He shakes his head. “Just like I took hers.”

Bruce twists his chair more until his knees are bumping into the side of Clark’s thigh and he reaches up to cup the man’s cheeks. Clark doesn’t look him in the eyes though, still staring at the picture of Sage on the screen, and Bruce gives Clark’s head a little shake.

“You saved an entire planet from Zod,” Bruce tells him, and it’s taken him literal years to believe this himself. “If he’d succeeded, there would’ve been a lot more people dead than just Sage’s mother. I’m not saying that it’s okay, that she had to die for everyone else, but it wasn’t your fault, Clark. You saved us all. You have to remember that.”

“I think I need some air,” Clark murmurs, and Bruce sighs before he stands up. Clark watches him do so, obviously torn between looking at him and looking at Sage, so Bruce reaches over and shuts down the screens.

“Come on then,” Bruce orders him, and Clark slowly rises to his feet. “I need to go and relieve Dick from patrol anyway. You can come with me if you like?”

He poses it like a flippant question, even though his heart is thumping in his chest as he waits for Clark’s reply. Surprisingly, Clark gives him a thankful nod and Bruce doesn’t linger as he finds his regular Batsuit and quickly gets changed. He glances over his shoulder once to see Clark looking pointedly away, and Bruce wonders if he’s making up the bright red tips of his ears.

It doesn’t matter, and soon Bruce directs Clark towards the elevator and the two shoot up into the lake house above. Tim is lurking in the drawing room that the elevator pulls into, and as they walk out Tim gives Bruce a rude look including waggling eyebrows that Bruce knows Clark sees.

“Be safe,” Tim calls over his shoulder as Bruce quickly ushers Clark past him. “Use protection!”

“Excuse him,” Bruce mutters under his breath as he leads the way down the corridor to the back door leading to the garage. Tim had borrowed the Batmobile earlier and hadn’t put it back in the cave like normal, and Bruce really has to avoid rolling his eyes at the teenage bullshit. “He’s just a brat.”

“He’s sweet,” Clark disagrees, and Bruce looks up to see Clark looking ridiculously affectionate. It makes Bruce’s stomach feel warm at the sight, especially knowing that Clark already likes both Dick and Tim. If Alfred were around to see it Bruce has no doubts that he’d be getting a very pointed raised eyebrow his way and potentially another one of those self-help books about opening up to relationships that Alfred keeps leaving on his bed.

He heads straight towards the Batmobile once he’s in the garage, opening the passengers door for Clark to slide into before it catches up that Clark probably isn’t one of the regular bimbos he picks up from parties who expect the door to be opened for them. Clark does smile at him when he closes the door though, and Bruce quickly rushes around to the drivers side to kick them into gear. 

Clark fits perfectly in the car beside him, and Bruce tries not to fixate on that as they burst out of the concealed entrance of the garage to tear across the country side towards the city where he knows Dick will be lurking on some of the rooftops.

“You’re a madman,” Clark mutters as Bruce speeds up and takes some corners particularly fast, and Bruce lets out a sharp laugh. He knows Clark glances at him when he does, but he doesn’t return the gaze. Even though the Batmobile practically drives itself, he’s not gonna run the risk of going goo-goo over Clark’s smiles again. 

He thought their trip might be a quiet one, but as they blitz past the manor Bruce can see Clark’s hands shifting out of the corner of his eye as Clark twists to look at it out the window. For a moment, Bruce glances out as well and isn’t surprised to see a bolt of electricity in front of the manor, but he is surprised when Clark turns back to him with a frown.

“Did you ever think of building it before us? Not the league, but for you?” 

It’s not a question Bruce is expecting. Sure, Diana had asked him multiple times when rebuilding if it was okay, if he was sure about creating the Justice League on top of the Wayne Manor ashes. Bruce had thought about it the entire time, and even now he still has the same answer.

“Yes,” he answers honestly as he turns his gaze back to the road. “I did at times.” He shakes his head. “But I never would have.”

“Why?” Clark presses, and Bruce huffs.

“The Wayne family had traditions. Have one child, raise them to be the next CEO of the industries, meet the partner of your child, grow old and watch your child, become who you were. Let the cycle repeat and repeat.” His mouth thins as he presses his lips together. “That tradition ended on the same street my parents were killed on. The rest? Not long after.”

“But you have Dick and Tim-” Clark starts to protest and Bruce cuts him off quickly.

“Dick might be taking over my company, but he has his own life to live.” Bruce squares his jaw as his foot goes a little further down on the pedal. “He’s not a Wayne, and he doesn’t want to be. And Tim? Tim doesn’t want the responsibility of the Wayne family on his shoulders and Jason…” He trails off, his brain catching up to his voice and cutting him off. He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. “It’s like Alfred always says, there’s not likely to ever be another generation of the Wayne family.”

“But the women,” Clark starts up, and Bruce can hear the frown in his voice. “You sleep with so many woman, how do you know-”

“I don’t sleep with any of them, Clark,” Bruce corrects, and Clark falls silent. “By the time we’re back at the lake house they’re either drunk enough to fall asleep or I give them a sleeping tablet. They’re normally still out of it in the morning and I can convince them we slept together.” He sighs. “I have to keep up the darling Bruce Wayne appearance for a magnitude of reasons, but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

Clark doesn’t reply, and Bruce is thankful for his silence as they finally hit the city boundary and he makes his way to the Batsignal. No doubt Dick will be heading towards it for changeover, and as Bruce pulls into a nearby alleyway and gets of the car he’s thankful for the fresh air to his lungs.

Clark gets out behind him, and Bruce can see he’s determined to stay, so he wordlessly reaches out to wrap an arm around Clark’s waist before shooting his grappling gun up to the nearby roof. They fly through the air effortlessly, and it doesn’t escape Bruce’s attention that Clark probably could’ve just flown them up, before landing gracefully on the rooftop with Bruce already looking for threats. 

There’s no one around though, not even Dick, and he pushes away from Clark to walk to the other side of the roof. It’s a good city view from up this high, and Bruce feels Clark approaching from behind as he surveys the cityscape. He’s bracing himself for whatever Clark says next, wondering if maybe he spoke too much, if explaining things made Clark’s opinion of him worse.

But Clark just drops a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“You’re a good man, Bruce,” he says honestly, and Bruce turns his wide eyed gaze on him only for Clark to smile right back at him. “I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

“Clark…” Bruce starts to respond, only to trail off as suddenly two strong arms wrap around his waist and Clark is pulling him into a tight hug. Bruce isn’t use to this, isn’t use to casual contact, and his arms hang limp at his sides as Clark pulls him close enough that he’s plastered entirely against Clark’s fronting his face is pressed into his collarbone.

“You’re my hero,” Clark continues to murmur into his ear, and each word sends a chill down Bruce’s spine. “And I’m sorry that I ever doubted you in the first place, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever doubted you since.” He pulls back just an inch to give Bruce a soft and tender smile. “I could never ask for a better friend than you. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as special as you in my life, but I’m thankful to whoever decided that was the case.” He leans down a little, their foreheads barely touching and Bruce can hear the sound of Clark’s breath hitting the mask he’s wearing and the heat on his exposed lips. “I think, Bruce, I-”

“Batman?”

They spring apart immediately, Clark with flaming red tips to his ears and Bruce is thankful that he’s got a mask to cover his own, and the two turn to see Dick standing in front of the Batsignal with his hands on is hips and his head quirked to the side.

“Nightwing,” Bruce greets sternly, stepping back and away from Clark. “I was wondering when you would turn up.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dick waves him off and if Bruce could see his eyes they’d no doubt be narrowed. “Were you two just about to ki-”

“Time for me to go, I think,” Clark calls out loudly, cutting off Dick who’s mouth is twitching something fierce, and Bruce is internally kicking the hell out of himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. “I, um, I’ll just…”

“Dick can drive you back to the manor,” Bruce quickly informs him as he turns around to see Clark shifting awkwardly where he stands, and he can hear Dick smothering a laugh behind his hand. “I’ll head for patrol now.”

“Yes, good,” Clark agrees, nodding his head as he wrings his hands before turning to look at Dick. Dick is just shaking his head though, and Bruce hopes the kid goes back to Bludhaven tonight instead of the lake house. He probably won’t though, not if he’s dropping Clark at the manor, and Bruce makes sure to remember to stretch his patrol out as long as possible.

“I’ll see you on Friday,” Bruce responds as Clark just continues to look awkward. “Diana has a new exercise we’re to try out.” He raises his hand in farewell. “Until then.”

“Yes, until then,” Clark parrots back, and he won’t meet Bruce’s eyes. Bruce tries not to let that sting, and he glances at the ground as Dick passes him with a clap on the shoulder before ushering Clark down the fire escape and back towards the Batmobile.

Admittedly he lingers on the rooftop until the Batmobile is long gone in the distance, and he blames that as the distraction that means he doesn’t see the group of Penguin’s henchmen lurking across the road.

Three days later and Clark goes missing. Kidnapped, as Bruce finds out later.

Bruce doesn’t know about it at first. Why would he? He’s thrown himself into the Batman roll to try and get rid of the imagery of Clark leaning in close. Every time he thinks of that moment he feels his stomach roll and his cheeks heat, and he puts that little bit extra into fighting whatever criminals he comes across until he’s crashing into bed after patrol completely exhausted. He sees Tim once and manages to avoid the demands to know what the hell he’s doing, and Alfred wakes him up on the third day with a particularly frustrated look on his face. Bruce is almost positive that Dick has told them what’s happened, but he actively tries to be oblivious.

He’s on patrol on the evening of the third day of this hectic nightmare when finds out about Clark. He’s just finished a particularly nasty fight with some die-hard Joker supporters that had ended up with Bruce sporting a well placed knife would on his upper arm when he’d twisted just wrong enough for the crook to get in a lucky shot.

It’s not too bad overall though, and he retreats to a nearby rooftop to clean it up with some supplies from his belt. He’s just finishing when he feels someone else land on the rooftop, someone with light enough footsteps that Bruce has to strain to hear them, and the sound of cocking guns makes Bruce’s shoulders tense as his hand strays for a flash-bang grenade.

“You know throwing that will only disadvantage us both.”

Bruce freezes for a solid moment, heart suddenly beating up into his throat, and he slowly turns around to see a young man standing in with a brown leather jacket, a red hood, and his guns hanging loosely at his side.

“Jason?” Bruce murmurs, his voice quiet to even his own ears as he stands, and he sees Jason reach up to pull the mask off, his black hair springing out from it’s confines as hard blue eyes level Bruce with a glare.

“Hello, Bruce,” he replies, and Bruce can see his jaw working as he looks at him. “Long time, no see.”

Bruce slides to his feet, his hand still tight on the flash-bang. Just because it’s Jason doesn’t mean he’s going to lower his guard. Last time he’d seen him, Jason had done more damage than just a simple knife in the arm, to the point that Dick had pulled them apart angrily.

“Indeed,” Bruce simply says, even though he’s craving the urge to shout that that is not his fault. That Jason is the one avoiding them. If Bruce has his way Jason would be back at the lake house right beside Tim, Alfred, Dick, and himself. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Jason’s lips quirk up into a nasty smile, and Bruce’s hand tightens on the flash-bang. He hopes this won’t end in violence, hopes that Jason is seeking him out for something besides a fight, but the likelihood isn’t high. Jason’s anger has only gotten worse since his resurrection. His lust for violence and blood near uncontrollable. Bruce still blames himself for not caring for the boy better when he was lining up to be Dick’s successor. Robin should’ve been protected and cared for by Batman, but Bruce was too busy trying to mould the boy into Dick Grayson rather than let him be Jason Todd.

“Your friend, Clark Kent,” Jason continues, oblivious to Bruce’s dilemma, and he practically spits out the words. “He’s in some trouble. Thought you might want to know.”

Bruce frowns. Clark? He’d heard from the man earlier in the day. “What kind of trouble?” he asks, and Jason quirks his head to the side. Bruce is hyper aware of the grip he has on those guns, and his muscles are already coiled, ready for whatever Jason might do.

“You really don’t know?” he muses, and Bruce’s eyes narrow. “Funny. I thought you were ignoring him. Drake told me to give you the benefit of the doubt.” 

“You spoke to Tim?”

Jason shrugs his shoulders. “I called the house first and he picked up.” He glances across the roofs, and Bruce looks up in time to see Tim sprinting across them. “The brat knows enough. You don’t need me.”

He starts to turn away, already lifting his mask, and it’s just sheer instinct that has Bruce crossing the ground between them to grasp Jason’s wrist. He dodges the swing that Jason automatically makes with his other arm, and Bruce let’s go of the flash-bang to catch the stray arm. 

Jason looks murderous, both his arms in Bruce’s tight grip. No matter what, Bruce is still strong enough to hold Jason, but it goes to show the kid must want to stay since he doesn’t even put up a fight as he narrows his eyes at Bruce.

“Stay,” Bruce insists, and he squeezes both Jason’s wrists. “Help me?" 

Jason doesn’t respond, too busy glaring, and Tim’s arrival has Bruce dropping Jason’s wrists and turning to the younger boy. He has a brief moment where he wants Dick to be here as well, to see Jason at the least, but he’s distracted from his thoughts when Tim holds up a small monitor with a beeping red dot.

“I tracked down Clark as Jason asked,” he immediately launches into explain, and Bruce glances to see Jason glaring at the roof before giving Tim his full attention. “It looks like it’s Penguin who’s kidnapped him. He’s being held in Iceberg Lounge.” He shakes his head as he drops the monitor to his side. “Why hasn’t he just busted himself out of there?”

“He doesn’t want to drop his cover,” Bruce explains as he reaches for his utility belt, doing an automatic gear check in the back of his head as he talks. “He’s Superman,” he tells a Jason who doesn’t look up as he nods his head at the news. He’s not too surprised by the looks of it, but Bruce doesn’t question him. “I’m assuming Penguin would have a reason for taking him.”

“Yeah, you,” Jason jumps in, although he’s still burning that hole into the roof with his gaze. “You weren’t exactly subtle the other night.”

“The other night…?” Tim parrots before his mouth drops open. “You mean when they were-”

“Anyway,” Bruce interrupts, clamping a very heavy hand down on Tim’s shoulders as the boy giggles, and he feels his chest warm when he sees Jason trying to hide a genuine smile behind his hand. At least the boys can all bond and take enjoyment from torturing Bruce. “The Iceberg Lounge. How long has he been there?”

“A few hours,” Tim supplies as he pulls up his wristlet and starts tapping away on it. “I did a quick reading and there’s a fair few party goers in there. We’ll have to figure out a way to get in without hurting anyone.”

“Who cares,” Jason disagrees, and Tim looks up at him with that open mouth. “Everyone that goes to the Iceberg are fucking degenerates.”

“Jason!” Bruce scolds as Tim starts at the language. Jason doesn’t care though as he ignores Bruce to settle his guns into his holsters. It’s enough to know that Jason has no intention on leaving, and it alleviates something in Bruce’s chest.

“Um,” Tim hums for a moment before shaking his head and looking back at his wristlet. “Right. Yes. So, we could maybe go through the back entrance. If all three of us go then the guards in the back alley will be no problem. I don’t think Penguin will know we’re onto him just yet. I would think he would’ve sent demands by now, but since he hasn’t-.”

“He did,” Jason mutters, and both Tim and Bruce turn to him. He shrugs. “I killed the messenger.”

“Oh my god, Jason,” Bruce groans, and Tim looks exceptionally uncertain as he moves a little bit further away from Jason. “Why did you do that?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “The guy was part of Penguin’s human trafficking ring. Last week alone he sold twelve teenage girls. The fucker deserved to die.”

Admittedly, Bruce agrees with him, but on principle he rubs a hand over his mouth in complete disbelief. While he misses Jason, knowing how he acts can be one hell of a shock.

“Alright, no killing on this trip,” Bruce snaps, and Jason glares at him.

“Why not? It’s not like either of us are adverse to it,” he points out, and Bruce has to grind his teeth together to avoid snapping. Admittedly yes, Bruce’s antics as Batman have gotten violent and brutal over the years, yes, Bruce isn’t adverse to killing these people who deserve it. But Tim hasn’t been exposed to that and, even though he’s sixteen years old and knows what Bruce does when he’s on patrol by himself, Bruce doesn’t think it’s fair to push something as heavy as murder on the kids shoulders. 

“Today I am,” Bruce ends up saying, and Jason looks like he’s going to argue until Bruce holds up a hand to cut him off. “No. We don’t need to traumatise Tim anymore.” Jason’s mouth shuts immediately as he glances at Tim, and Bruce swears he sees a hint of compassion in Jason’s face before he shrugs and shakes his head.

“I’m okay!” Tim chirps up though, and Bruce resists the urge to scream. He grins awkwardly when Bruce turns his glare onto him and rubs the back of his head. “They’re bad people, Bruce. Sometimes you gotta do a nasty deed to stop them.”

“When did you grow up?” Bruce mumbles before he shakes his head. “Fine. If force is needed then apply it.” Jason’s responding grin is particularly bloodthirsty. Bruce tries not to think about it. “Lets go. Clark is probably getting worried and trying to figure out a way to escape without showing how strong he is.”

“I bet he’d kill someone if he knew-”

“Jason!” 

Thankfully the two boys remain silent as Bruce leads them across the rooftops. The Iceberg Lounge is only five minutes or so away, although they take it slow to ensure that Tim can keep up. Even though he’s all gangly limbs and empty stomach at sixteen, his balance is that of a newborn foal. The still make it in plenty of time though, and Bruce sticks to the shadows as they slink over the back alleyway entrance to the Iceberg.

Jason is crouched beside Bruce and reloading his handguns as Bruce takes an inventory of who’s lurking in the alleyway. There’s easily three guards blocking the door, and his eyes linger on the two drunk girls at the end of the alley vomiting. Two of Penguins men are lurking around them, and it doesn’t take Jason hissing who they are for Bruce to recognise two human traffickers.

“Jason, take Tim and help out those girls, then come help me with the other three,” Bruce orders under his breath, Tim sliding up on his other side to peer down at the alleyway. “Tim, I want you to get those girls safely home.”

“But I-”

“Do as I say, Tim,” Bruce almost barks, and Tim immediately backs down, albeit grouchily. Jason reaches around Bruce’s back and ruffles Tim’s hair despite Tim’s growls.

“Don’t worry, squirt,” Jason tells him. “We all go through the Batsy being concerned over our safety routine. I doubt you’ll be the last.” He turns his gaze to Bruce. “There’s always going to be another Robin to replace the previous.”

Bruce hears the hurt and anger there, despite Jason clearly trying to palm it off as not bothering him. A part of Bruce wants to reach out now and address it, but is not the right time with Clark no doubt in that building and starting to wonder if anyone is coming for him.

After another strict repeat of his orders, Bruce promptly jumps off the roof to glide to the alleyway floor. He can hear when the guards notice him, the initial panic loud enough to grab the attention of the other two at the end of the alley, but their attention is then promptly diverted as Jason lands on the ground with a solid thump and immediately raises his guns.

Bruce looks away as gunshots ricochet through the alleyway, focusing instead on the three guards. One of them is pulling frantically at the club door while the other two square up, and Bruce pulls a batarang easily from his belt and throws it at the one at the door.

The blunt edge hits the guard in the temple with an audible thunk, his hand falling from the door as he lets out a yell and grips his head. The other two jump at the sudden noise behind them before once, exceptionally brave one, rushes Bruce.

It’s easy enough to roll with the man’s momentum as he crouches and shoves his hands right into the man’s gut before flipping him right over his shoulder. The guard lets out a guttural sound as he goes down, and Bruce’s eyes snap to the second one as he raises his gun, obviously keen to use the other guard as a distraction.

A gunshot rings out and Bruce swears as he feels a bullet pelt against where the stab wound on his arm was. He grits his teeth as the stab wound throbs, and he starts to take a step forward only for the guard on the floor to grab his ankle.

With a quick boot to the head, the guard’s grip loosens as he clutches his head desperately. Bruce doesn’t linger as he darts towards the other guard, throwing a punch the moment he’s within distance that lands squarely in the mans chest. He lets out an oof of a sound, and Bruce ducks his returning blow to crouch down and swipe out a leg. He takes the man out from at ankles, the resulting crash brutal as the guard’s head smashes on the concrete. Blood starts pooling immediately, and Bruce almost strays a hand out just as he hears the cocking of a gun.

The first guard, blood in his teeth and anger in his eyes, is pointing his handgun directly at Bruce face. Bruce holds up his hands in surrender knowing his cowl won’t protect him from a damn bullet to the face, but it doesn’t last long as he hears light footsteps before a gun shoots off.

A splatter of blood hits Bruce in the face as the guard crashes to the ground, a bullet hole in the back of his head, and Bruce turns to glare at Jason who’s standing with a manic grin on his face.

“Mask,” is all Bruce growls though, and Jason rolls his eyes before pulling his mask out of his belt and shoving it on. That’s two out of the three guards permanently down, and Bruce turns to reach for the last one groaning on the ground.

He sees the two girls are gone from the end of the alleyway, Tim nowhere in sight, and the guards are both down. No doubt there will be gun wounds on them too, but Bruce doesn’t think about it as he yanks the guard up by his hair.

“Where’s Kent?” he growls, and the guard spits at him. He misses as Bruce moves his head to the side, but there’s suddenly another set of hands as Jason grabs the guard by the shirt and shakes him.

“Where the fuck is Kent, asshole?” Jason snarls, and Bruce blinks at the ferocity before letting it slide. They need to get to Clark fast, and if Jason’s method works then they’ll use his methods. The guard looks terrified, and Bruce has to wonder if maybe he’s seen the Red Hood before.

The guard still doesn’t answer and Bruce willingly steps away as Jason pulls back a fist. He turns his head as the sounds of fists meeting flesh sounds through the air, and it takes a few moments before a gunshot goes off and Jason is standing back beside him.

“Was that necessary?” Bruce asks quietly, and Jason turns his head to him. There’s no expression, only his red mask, and Bruce grits his teeth.

“They’re bad people, Wayne,” Jason simply says before he steps forward to the door. “Looks like your boy Kent is in the back rooms with Penguin himself.” With that he slams a foot into the door, busting the lock easily before yanking it open.

He heads in first, an Bruce follows at a more sedate pace. They end up right in the back corridor of the club, music throbbing loudly through the doors to his left, but at the end of the hall there’s two more guards who immediately shout out and aim their weapons.

Bruce is fast than Jason, and with an easy throw he tosses two containers of explosive-gel. Both hit the guards on their chests respectively, and as the foam spreads out to push them against the wall Bruce hits them both with a stun bullet. Jason just glances back at him before shrugging and converging on the door the two had been protecting. He pauses at the guards sides, and Bruce watches him fidget with the handguns in his hands before he shakes his head and slams open the next door.

There’s a distinct yell from the other side that Bruce recognises as Penguin’s, and he rushes in right behind Jason as Jason storms through with his guns raised. There’s several amount of people in the back room. Easily four guards, Penguin himself, a handful of scantily clad women, and right at the back trussed up in a chair is a very exhausted looking Clark.

Bruce doesn’t head for him straight away, letting Jason take after the guards with a gleeful laugh as Bruce converges on Penguin. Penguin squawks when Bruce gets close enough, and he lashes out with his umbrella a few times before Bruce catches it and snaps the blasted thing in half. Penguin pales, and he shoves two girls at Bruce as he starts to head for another back door.

Bruce yanks his batarangs from his belt as he pushes the two girls aside, ignoring their cries as they hit the floor, before throwing them Penguin’s way. They catch Penguin from behind, one catching his pant leg and securing him to the wall while the other lands in front of his face. The burst of blood on his nose makes Penguin screech, the batarang clearly having nicked him, but Bruce doesn’t stop as he throws a Bat-bolas to secure Penguin’s feet to the floor before storming over and promptly knocking the bastard out with one hell of a punch.

It’s easy, almost too easy but, when Bruce looks behind him he sees all four guards on the ground in various states of aliveness and Jason ushering all the girls from the room, he can see why. Admittedly it normally takes longer for Bruce to instigate such missions, mainly because he doesn’t kill, but Jason’s way is definitely effective.

He doesn’t linger on what Jason is going to do next as he crosses the room to kneel in front of Clark. There’s tape wrapped hard enough around his mouth that it’s cutting into his cheeks, and Bruce winces as he slowly pulls it off. It clearly hurts, probably catching on Clark’s hairs, and Bruce rips the last of it off quickly as Clark gasps and blinks at him.

“About time,” Clark grunts as he wriggles with his bonds, looking around the room briefly before completely snapping the ropes around his wrists as he brings them to lie on his lap. “I was starting to wonder if I’d have to pull it off myself somehow.” He winces as he looks over to see Jason standing amongst the bodies. “Although, I’m not going to lie, I would’ve done it with less…”

“Death?” Bruce supplies as he reaches out to take Clark’s wrists. There’s no markings on them, of course, but they must be aching from being held in such a position. He rubs his gloved hands across them, trying to sooth the aches, as he looks over at Jason. “Clark, meet Jason Todd.”

He hears Clark’s sudden intake of breath, and he glances up to see Clark looking wide eyed and stunned. “As in, Jason Todd?” he repeats, and Bruce nods his head.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means,” Jason calls out as he yanks his mask off to glare at them. “Nice to meet you too, Kent. Been busy sucking off Wayne’s-”

“Jason!” Bruce scolds for what feels the millionth time tonight, and it doesn’t escape his notice that Jason is smirking. Clark’s cheeks are red, and there goes Bruce’s hope that maybe he hadn’t been listening properly.

There’s silence for a long moment, Bruce noticing that he’s still rubbing Clark’s wrists and he hastily pulls his hands away. Without looking at Clark, Bruce gets to his feet and turns to walk to the back door that Penguin had tried to escape from. He hears the chair Clark is in scrape across the floor and soon both Jason and Clark are at his back.

“I’ve heard a few things from your father about you,” Clark tries to say to Jason, and Bruce winces at the title before pushing open the door and stepping out into the alleyway. “He thinks very highly of you.”

“Does he?” Jason asks, his voice falsely light as the two follow Bruce. “Well, fuck me. Never thought he gave a shit.” 

“Jason, please,” Bruce practically pleads, and he turns around in the alleyway in time to see Clark sighing and reaching out to grip Jason’s shoulder as the door swings shut behind them.

“You know,” he starts quietly, and Jason’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at Clark’s hand angrily. “Your father told me a story about you when you were young.” Clark’s eyes are soft as he smiles at Jason. “Back when you were Robin. You were sick one night. Bruce said you were exhausted from trying to keep up with him on patrols and a sudden bout of the flu didn’t help. Alfred didn’t want you to go out no matter how hard you insisted, and it wasn’t until Bruce told you no to patrol that you finally backed down.” 

Bruce can feel his whole body tensing as he knows exactly what Clark is remembering, and the slow widening of Jason’s eyes shows he knows too.

“You were so angry about not being able to go,” Clark continues despite the two of them having a crisis. “According to Alfred, you were absolutely volatile that Bruce got to go and you had to stay.” He squeezes Jason’s shoulder and Bruce feels the knots in his chest unwinding as Jason’s eyes grow wider and wider. “That was until Bruce walked in, asked you what was on TV, and sat down beside you.” He smiles. “Do you remember what Bruce said to you?”

“Taking a night off once in a while isn’t a crime, Jason,” Bruce murmurs softly, and Jason’s eyes flicker to him briefly. 

Clark nods and Jason keeps looking between them like a lost puppy. “He’s got a picture of you still in his bedside table from that night,” he says, and Bruce feels his cheeks reddening as he looks away. “Alfred took it. One of you fast asleep with your head on Bruce’s shoulder.” He smiles and his hand drops from Jason’s shoulder. “Caring isn’t a disadvantage, Jason.”

There’s a long silence, one that’s tangible as Jason stands looking shocked beyond reason and Bruce fights every urge to step forward and wrap him up in a tight hug. No matter how long they’re apart, no matter how much they argue and fight, Jason will always be Bruce’s son.

“I have to go,” Jason suddenly says, his voice shaky as he backs away. His hands are trembling where they’re holding his mask, and Bruce takes a hesitant step forward.

“Call Dick,” he says. He wants to say so much more, but Jason won’t hear it now. Can’t hear it now. “He misses you.”

Jason blinks at him, shell shock on his face, but he gives a jerky nod before the mask is on his head and he’s scaling the building beside them. Bruce watches him, refusing to look away until Jason is long gone and it’s only him and Clark standing in some dirty alleyway with a club on their left and nothing but Gotham on their right.

He turns to Clark, and he doesn’t know what to say as he just stares. Clark is smiling at him though, and wordlessly he steps forward to drop an arm around Bruce’s waist.

“Thank you,” Clark murmurs as he drags Bruce into a hug, and Bruce feels tired enough that he just rolls into it, dropping his nose into the space between Clark’s neck and shoulder. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

“Anytime,” Bruce rasps back, his voice as ragged as he feels. Clark’s hands are large and gentle on his back, a soothing motion that lulls Bruce into a sense of calmness. It’s pleasant, so damn pleasant, and when Clark pulls away it’s much too soon.

He’s almost sure that Clark can hear his heart beating sporadically as he looks directly at Bruce’s chest, and there’s a knowing smile on his face. Bruce wants to cover it up somehow, hide these damn feelings that are bubbling, but he can’t as Clark reaches out to cup his cheek. It’s so tender, and Bruce isn’t use to tender, and he forces his hand to stay down instead of lace his fingers with Clark.

That knowing smile throws him off, and Clark just nods at him. Recognition maybe, acknowledgement at best, but Clark just drops his hand. Now isn’t the time, not after what’s just happened. Bruce has Tim to find, Jason to recover from, and Clark needs to get home. Back to the manor, no matter how much Bruce wants to drag him back to the lake house.

They don’t say goodbye, the air between them too fragile, but Clark gives Bruce a stupidly soft smile as he takes a few steps back before levitating into the air. He waves, and Bruce automatically waves back, before Clark turns his head to the sky and takes off.

It leaves Bruce standing in the alleyway feeling completely off balance, and he wonders when the hell he fell in love with Clark bloody Kent.

After that revelation, Bruce turns tail and hides in the lake house for easily over a week.

Or at least he tries. He’s halfway through explaining to Alfred that he doesn’t want to be bother or have any form of company until further notice when Alfred rolls his eyes and reaches over to clip Bruce’s ears.

“Do grow up, Master Bruce,” he scolds, and Bruce stares at him in shock. “Honestly. You’re acting like a teenage girl. It’s most unbecoming.”

He walks away after that, and Bruce is pretty sure he’s going to completely ignore Bruce’s request of solitude. It doesn’t matter though, and Bruce takes a day to wallow in his misery as he camps out in his bed and ensures the door is locked. He doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wants some time out.

Of course that doesn’t happen either, and Bruce nearly turns around to yell at Alfred before he sees it’s Tim who’s picked the lock of his room. He doesn’t pause when he sees Bruce is looking at him, just closes the door before climbing onto the other side of the bed and spreading out what looks like his homework. Bruce continues to stare at him, beyond confused, and when Tim looks up with a familiar look of annoyance Bruce has to smother a smile.

“What are you doing?” he asks instead, and Tim shakes his head and blows a piece of hair off his face. 

“Misery likes company,” is all he says before turning back to his homework. Bruce stares at him for a lot longer, before he shakes his head and sits up. The blankets around him pool down to his waist, covering some of the pages spread on the bed, and Tim makes an irritated noise as he yanks them out from under them.

“I’m not miserable,” Bruce tells him, and Tim sighs as he drops his pen and twists to look at Bruce.

“No, you’re in love,” Tim corrects. “And that’s much worse.”

Bruce gapes at him, not too sure where the hell this sixteen year old came from. “I’m not in love either,” he tries to deny but it comes out weak. Tim shakes his head and reaches over to pat Bruce’s shoulder.

“Sure,” Tim placates before gesturing at his homework. “And I’m not flunking math. Yet here we are.”

Bruce narrows his eyes and pushes Tim’s hand away. “Seriously, Tim,” he tries again. “I’m not in love with Superman.”

Tim hums for a moment before he nods. “No, you’re not,” he agrees, and Bruce feels his shoulders starting to relax only for Tim to suddenly smile. “But you are in love with Clark Kent.”

“They’re the same person.”

“Are they?” Tim asks. He scrunches up his nose and waves his hand dismissively. “You can deny it all you want, Bruce, but that’s not going to change a thing. Dick’s seen it, Jason’s seen it, I’ve seen it. Even Alfred has seen it. You’re head over heels for Clark Kent and that scares the hell out of you.” Tim sighs as he places his hand gently on Bruce’s. “It’s okay to be scared, but I don’t think you need to be. Don’t be scared of something new just because it’s unfamiliar.”

Bruce stares at Tim as he pulls his hand away and reaches out for his homework again. Seriously, where did Tim come from? He knows the kid has better deduction skills than most of them, but considering he spends most of his time walking around as a bottomless pit for food and full of hormonal mood swings, Bruce is utterly surprised for him to be so serious.

“When did you grow up?” he asks quietly, and Tim smiles down at his lap as he bumps his shoulder into Bruce’s.

“Around Christmas. Someone had too,” Tim grins. “It sure as hell wasn’t going to be you or Dick.” He lifts up a piece of paper covered in equations that already makes Bruce head spin. “Now come on, help me with algebra. I have to pass this or Mrs McKinny will kick my ass.”

Eventually, Bruce does roll out of bed to face the day. He loudly blames Tim and his need to know how the hell trigonometry and algebra have anything to do with each other, and Bruce yanks on a dressing gown as he bolts from the room. Tim’s yells follow him down the corridor right to the kitchen, and Bruce can’t help but smile at the kid's antics, but he feels bad for him having to tackle that nightmare by himself.

The smile drops from his face though when he enters the kitchen and sees Diana sitting primly at the island with Alfred, both with mugs in their hands and both of them swing to pin him with their intense gazes.

He nearly backtracks to the mathematical horror, but he’s stopped as Diana pulls out the stool beside her and pats it.

“Come join us, Bruce,” she says, her smile incredibly deadly, and it’s only because Alfred nods his head across from Diana that he slinks forward to slip onto the chair. He’s pleased though when a mug of coffee is placed in front of him, and he takes it with both hands as he actively avoids Diana’s gaze.

He’s not lucky enough to think that might stop whatever conversation Diana clearly wants to have with him though, and he regrets the huge mouthful of coffee he takes as she speaks up.

“So, Clark, huh?” she asks, and Bruce tries not to spit out his mouthful at the implication in her tone. “It’s about time you realised. Alfred was contemplating an intervention.”

“You are quite oblivious, Master Bruce,” Alfred agrees, and Bruce shoots him a glare at the betrayal. Alfred doesn’t flinch though as he just inclines his head. “I’m glad you’ve come to the conclusion yourself. For a while there it was getting tedious.”

“You’re all insane,” Bruce mutters, turning his stare to his mug and refusing to look at the other two. “I’m not in love with-” 

“Stop lying to yourself, Bruce,” Diana interrupts, and Bruce nearly jumps as her hand comes down onto his shoulder gently. “It’s okay to be in love. And with someone like Clark, who can blame you? He’s a wonderful person, and you’re just as delightful-”

“Said no one ever,” Bruce objects as he cuts in. He takes a deep breath before looking up at the two with him. Diana is frowning while Alfred looks incredibly impassive, and Bruce wonders what he’s really thinking. “Look. I’ll admit that there are certain… feelings there. But it doesn’t mean anything. Clark…” He trails off, unsure really what to say. Clark’s straight? Clark sees him only as a friend? Clark can do so much better? Bruce Wayne is a playboy asshole and Batman is a murderer. Clark Kent can do so much better than whatever Bruce can offer.

Diana’s lips are pursued and Bruce can see anger in her eyes. He doesn’t want to know what she’s thinking, especially considering it’ll probably be some positive spin on the situation and right now? Bruce can’t see that and doesn’t want to hear anything about it. Nothing he feels right now is positive, and nothing about this situation is positive.

He can’t stop her from reaching out to cup his cheek, and he bites his tongue as she turns his eyes to meet hers.

“I wish you could see how special you are,” she tells him, and Bruce feels a flare of anger as he reaches up to push her hand away and stands from his seat.

“I’m nothing special, Diana,” he replies firmly, and he holds her gaze with a deep ferocity. “I’m just some guy dressed as a bat. And when I’m not him, I’m some jackass who throws money at his problems until they go away.” He grits his teeth as he turns his back on the two at the island. “Clark Kent can do much better than me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, even though he can hear Diana’s sharp intake of breath and Alfred sigh, and instead just leaves the room. He passes Tim on his way but ignores him in favour of the Batcave. He doesn’t want to see anyone, doesn’t want to listen to whatever falsities they come up with. Silence is a blessing, and the moment the elevator stops and he steps into the seclusion of the Batcave he feels a weight come off his shoulders.

It only takes a few moments for him to pull on one of his usual catsuits. It’s not the most heavily protected of his suits, lacking padding and kevlar that his main one has, but since that one is currently undergoing repairs this one will have do for a few hours as he gets out to clear his head. It’s near enough to evening for him to be going out on patrol, the sun would’ve mostly gone down by the time he gets into Gotham, and since no one else is scheduled for patrol so he’ll at least be alone. It what he needs, time out to rearrange his thoughts, and as he tears towards Gotham City in the Batmobile he refuses to look at the manor on the way past.

Thankfully he’s easily distracted the moment he hits the rooftops. A series of muggings and burglaries keeps him busy until it’s well into the evening and the nightlife of Gotham City is starting to roar. He passes the Iceberg Lounge, the front doors wide open with lines of nightclubbers ready to go, and on the street are so many drunk people that Bruce lurks around the smaller groups to ensure most don’t get into trouble. When he glides by the police station is packed tight with people going in and out, and most of the police cruisers are gone from the depot. The moment Bruce had began his patrol he’d heard nothing but sirens, and going on four hours it’s still nonstop.

There are not many signs of any of Bruce’s usual suspects. He’d seen the Riddler cruise by with the Scarecrow of all people in his ridiculous green and purple pimp car, but the two didn’t seem to be up to much trouble. Bruce’s first instinct had been to swing down and drop the two off at the crowded station, but in Bruce’s current mind-frame he didn’t see the point.

For a patrol, it’s relatively easy, and Bruce should’ve known that getting complacent isn’t the appropriate response. He’s tired though, in every way possible, and he doesn’t expect the goon to get the jump on him.

He’s just walking down an alleyway when it happens. His head is in the clouds, too many thoughts to focus on one alone, and he blames that for the reason he doesn’t hear the shifting of a nearby pipe. If he had heard it, he could’ve stopped the crook with ease, but instead, it’s not until they’re right on top of him that he register the criminal’s appearance.

The crowbar the crook has slams down onto Bruce in a powerful blow, and Bruce instantly regrets not wearing one of his better suits as the hooked end easily tears through the material and straight into the meat of his shoulder. He lets out a wounded cry, pain ripping through his body, and he clumsily staggers forward as he tries to gather his bearings.

He can hear the goon sprouting something mockingly behind him, but he can hardly hear through the fog of pain as he reaches up and rips out the crowbar. It leaves him gasping in pain, but he turns slowly around to see the criminal’s face draining of colour. 

It’s one of Two-Face’s thugs, Bruce realises when he sees the red and black ying and yang patch on the criminal’s vest. It’s not good, and Bruce knows these thugs in particular always hunt in pairs. There’s no sign of the other one, and instead of reassuring Bruce it makes him unsettled. Best to deal with this one first before worrying about the second.

He steels himself to move in for the attack, pushing aside the pain on his now useless left shoulder, before darting forward and swinging out with the crowbar. The thug avoids his first swing, and he gets a smug look about him before Bruce lands the second shot. The criminal screams as Bruce slams the crowbar into his knee, and he buckles before hitting the ground with a grunt. Bruce moves forward to slam the crowbar down on him again, potentially to end the bastard, but freezes as he hears a gun cock.

Thug number two steps out of the shadows, and Bruce stares at him as a handgun is raised to point directly at his face. He drops the crowbar, incidentally right on top of thug number one, and the groan he gets is satisfying. 

“Hello, Batsy,” the thug with the gun crows at him, moving forward steadily as he bares sharp teeth. Bruce doesn’t move back, just stays still despite his body screaming at him to move. Depending on where he’s shot, the suit might handle a bullet or two, but if the thug has a good aim then Bruce might just be screwed.

The blood leaking from his shoulder is sluggish but heavy, and Bruce really doesn’t want to add more damage to his body if he can avoid it. The thug in front of him looks unhinged though, and he hears the groaning of the one on the ground as he slowly starts to stir.

“Mr. Dent has been particularly explicit about what we’re to do if we see you,” the thug continues to croon as his friend starts to sit up. “Said that we’re not to kill you.” He holds up his other hand and shakes his finger as he tisks. “No no, Mr. Dent doesn’t want a dead Batman. That would be no fun.” He takes a large step forward and the only thing separating him and Bruce is the goon on the ground. “We’re to maim, he said. Cut the wee bat’s wing off. Make sure he can’t fly.”

A sudden shot rings out and Bruce swears as a bullet lodges straight into his thigh. It nearly cripples him, and it’s only sheer stubbornness that has him still standing. He backs off as much as he can though, stumbling back a few steps as the thug steps over his friend and keeps walking towards him.

“Hmm, not quite,” he sighs as he raises the gun again, and Bruce’s right-hand strays to his utility belt for his grapple gun. He’s at a disadvantage here. He could step forward and try close combat, but the thug is clearly unhinged and unpredictable. Bruce’s best bet is to get to the rooftops and try to make a break for it. 

His fingers just scrape his grapple gun when another shot rings out. Nothing hits him though, and he notes the bullet has burrowed into the ground in front of his feet.

“Batsy, Batsy, sat on a wall,” the thug starts up again, and his grin is hard demonic. “Batsy, Batsy, had a great fall.” He raises the gun again as Bruce’s fingers close on the grapple gun. “And all Batsy’s friends and all Batsy’s foes, were happy to see Mr. Batsy go.” 

He punctuates the last word with another shot, and Bruce feels it skim his arm as he yanks out the grapple gun and fires it to the top of a nearby fire escape. He grunts at the blow but doesn’t let it stop him as he slams the trigger and flies straight into the air.

The criminal lying on the ground is screaming at the other one, words that Bruce doesn’t listen too, but it doesn’t matter because Bruce is gone and he’s away and he’s safe and-

Another shot rings out, and Bruce gasps as he feels it tear straight into his side. His fingers loosen reflexively, his grip on his grapple gun gone as it tears from his hands and leaves him crashing straight into the side of the fire escape. He can’t grip onto it, pain clouding his reflexes as he drops from the fire escape and slams into the railing underneath him. It’s agony, his entire side is raging as the bullet rips through him and he drops and drops onto railing after railing until he’s free falling and all of a sudden the hard ground of the alleyway is rushing up to meet him.

He doesn’t remember hitting it, but he does wake up to the sound of the thugs cackling down the way. He tries to move, tries to roll to his feet and get up to get away, but his body resists as everything is on fire and he’s burning, burning, burning, where he lies. Nothing will work, his fingers refuse to clench and his legs refuse to move and everything feels broken and his suit is wet in so many places. He’s sure he can feel each wound pulsing, and there’s a coppery tang to the air that he recognises as his own blood.

It’s not looking good, he realises, and there’s so much fog in his brain that he can’t think. He can hear footsteps approaching, the cackling of the thugs getting louder, and he braces himself for another blow and wonders what’s to come next?

A sudden boom fills the air though, and if Bruce could he’d twist to see the source as the ground shudders and the nearby windows crack and fall. It’s too loud, loud enough that Bruce feels his eardrums shake, and it’s dark and cold and he can’t see what’s happening but the cackling stops, everything stops, and Bruce wonders if maybe… maybe this is it? Is this…

He bolts awake with a jolt, oxygen flowing into his lungs so quickly it almost hurts as he opens his eyes and blinks and blinks because it’s so bright and there’s a rushing sound all around him and there’s just too much going on as his breath comes in short hitches and he can’t focus-

“Bruce?”

His name gets his attention, and Bruce fights past the panic in his chest to focus on the hand covering his, the soft breathing beside him, the sheer warmth radiating off whoever is there, and slowly he anchors himself until the blurs are coming into focus and he knows where he is.

He’s in his room at the lake house, tucked up in his bed where he’s safe. The rushing in his ears dies down slowly until there’s nothing else in the room but his heavy breathing matching the breathing beside him, and he achingly turns his head to see it’s Clark sitting beside him. His eyes are wide, his face slightly panicked, and Bruce has the urge to try and soothe away his worries.

“Clark?” and his voice is so quiet he struggles to hear himself. Clark obviously can though as his grip tightens on Bruce’s hand and he leans in.

“Hey,” Clark murmurs, and Bruce leans into his other hand as it comes down to stroke the hairs on Bruce’s forehead. “Hey, it’s not time for you to wake up yet. Alfred needs you to go to sleep a little longer.” He smiles, and Bruce tries to smile back. He doesn’t think he succeeds.

Just a little longer, Bruce thinks, and he slowly slips back into sleep. It’s nice like that, there’s no sounds or sights or anything to overstimulate him, and Bruce relaxes.

The second time he wakes it’s slower, more drawn out, and Bruce adjusts to his surroundings easier this time. There are more people in the room this time, specifically in the bed beside him if the snoring has anything to say, and Bruce takes his time opening his eyes as he looks to see who it is. 

Dick and Tim are wrapped up in the blankets beside him, the soft snoring coming from Dick as he lies on his back. His arm that’s wrapped around Tim is just touching Bruce’s waist, his hand resting on Tim’s side and wrapped with another. It takes Bruce a moment more to see who else is in the room, and he freezes when he sees Jason sleeping on a chair beside the bed, his head forward to lie on Dick’s shoulder.

It’s something he's definitely not used to, and Bruce reaches out with a shaking hand to lay it on top of Dick’s and Jason’s and hopes they don’t wake up.

He can hear voices as well though, and he moves his head slowly around until he sees the bedroom door is ajar and there are figures out in the hallway. People arguing, although quietly to not disturb Bruce and his boys. Bruce frowns and tries to focus past the haze that is no doubt the medication in his system.

“-can’t just risk your identity so carelessly, Clark!” That’s Arthur, Bruce recognises his haughty tone. He can just imagine the staredown between the two giants.

“You didn’t see the state of him when I brought him back,” and that’s Clark, although he sounds furious. “If Alfred wasn’t already prepared then Bruce might’ve died. I had to-”

“You should’ve gone as Superman, not Clark Kent! Taken the time to hide yourself!” 

“We didn’t have time, Arthur!” Clark’s voice is getting louder, loud enough that Bruce can hear it without straining. “He was basically unconscious when I got there, and if I’d been a moment later then those thugs would’ve inflicted more damage!”

Bruce frowns at the comment before he remembers the large boom, the shattering windows, and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. It was Clark that saved him, stupidly in his Clark Kent ego by the sounds of it, and Bruce hopes that no one saw him in the process. 

The two are still arguing, but their voices are fading out along with their footsteps. Bruce wants them to come back, maybe to hear more to piece together what happened, but maybe also for the company. It doesn’t matter though, and he turns his gaze from the door back to his boys.

Only to freeze when he sees Jason is awake and looking right at him. As soon as he locks eyes with Bruce he drops it to look at Bruce’s hand on top of his pointedly, and Bruce is about to take his off before he stops. No. He won’t, and instead he just squeezes Jason’s hand.

There’s a long moment where Jason stares at him with an unreadable look before he just nods and lowers his head back down onto Dick’s shoulder. The other two boys are clearly still fast asleep, and Bruce smothers down his affectionate smile as he closes his eyes to join them.

The third time he wakes up, it’s completely uneventful. It’s like waking up from a sleep like normal, and Bruce forgets he’s injured at all as he stretches his legs until there’s a twinge on his thigh. He doesn’t open his eyes though as he instead feels for other twinges, his left side, his right arm, and his entire left shoulder is numb. That makes him open his eyes as he twists his head to see the bandage wrapped around it and the memory of a crowbar sinking into him leaves a chill.

“Somehow you didn’t fully break anything,” comes from beside him, and he looks over to see Diana curled up in a chair beside him. She’s covered in a cable-knit blanket and looks sleep-rumpled, and Bruce wonders if he woke her. She smiles at him though. “I forget that humans are like that though,” she continues to muse aloud. “Fall from a great height and you walk away fine. Trip over a branch and shatter your kneecap.” She shrugs. “You’re an odd species, really.”

“We can’t all be demigods,” Bruce mutters in reply and she smiles again. Bruce feels slowly starts to push himself up the bed, mindful of his shoulder as he goes, and the bullet wounds only tug unpleasantly. He’s sitting up in no time though, and he relaxes against the headboard with a sigh of contentment.

“Alfred and J’onn worked together on you,” Diana says before Bruce has any time to ask, and Bruce glances over in time to see her gracefully rise from her seat only to settle on the edge of his bed. “Thankfully J’onn still remembers some schematics for their hospital machines back on Mars. If we hadn’t been able to speed up the healing process then you probably would’ve died.”

“Cheery,” Bruce points out, and Diana shakes her head fondly as she reaches for his hand.

“Not even a hospital would’ve saved you, Bruce,” she continues seriously. “You lost a lot of blood, and your body was in shock before Clark found you. If he hadn’t of gotten there when he did-”

“I know,” Bruce cuts her off, and Diana frowns. Bruce shrugs with his good shoulder. “I heard him and Arthur arguing about it. It was foolish of him to get me without his Superman attire on.”

“No,” Diana replies. “What was foolish was you going out alone without your usual attire. What were you thinking? The suit we pulled off you barely had any kevlar on it. You’re human, Bruce.”

“I had to get away,” Bruce tells her, and she flinches at his tone. “Somebody wouldn’t just leave me alone.” It takes for the words to be out of his mouth before he realises what he’s said, and Diana looks as if she’s just been struck. “No, I didn’t…” Bruce starts, but falls silent when Diana drops her eyes to her lap.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and Bruce wants to reach out and tell her it’s not her fault. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I spoke to Alfred about it after you left and he… he explained to me that you’re not the most open of types.”

“Diana…” Bruce tries again, but he’s stopped when Diana reaches out to take his hand tightly in hers. She lifts her head up and her eyes are full of conviction as she looks right at Bruce, pining him with her stare.

“Clark loves you,” she says, and Bruce blinks a handful of times. She holds up her other hand to cut him off though when he opens his mouth. “No. I didn’t realise this wasn’t clear before. I thought that perhaps you were trying to be somewhat noble, that you truly thought that he can do better than you.” She shakes her head and squeezes his hand. “Bruce, you’re an incredible person. You’re the one that brought us all together. You took us all in, renovated your home for us, have helped us with so many things I couldn’t possibly list them all.” She twists and reaches over to cup his cheek. “You’re so kind, and generous, and yes, you’re Batman, and yes, you’re Bruce Wayne.” Her hand tightens on his cheek. “But you’re also just Bruce, and just Bruce is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting.” Her smile is so bright it almost dazzles Bruce. “And I’ve been alive for centuries, so that’s saying something.”

Bruce stares at her, completely speechless. He doesn’t know what to say as he sees the sheer conviction she obviously feels, and after a long moment he simply drops his head to press his forehead to her shoulder. His side aches at the movement, but he ignores it as Diana’s hand slides up from his cheek to thread into his hair.

They stay like that for a moment, breathing in time together, and Bruce relaxes enough he might almost slip back to sleep when he hears someone clearing their throat in the doorway.

He’s unsurprised to see it’s Clark as he lifts his head from Diana’s shoulder. Clark’s avoiding his gaze, looking at the ground as he shuffles uncomfortably, and Bruce realises that Clark no doubt heard that whole speech from Diana… unless he didn’t hear the beginning and that would explain why he looks so uncomfortable.

“Do get a grip, Clark,” Diana says as she squeezes Bruce’s hand before standing. She gives Clark the most unimpressed look Bruce has ever seen as she heads for the doorway. “If I were in love with Bruce then I would’ve done something about it by now instead of pining like a boy.” It’s such a pointed remark that Bruce feels embarrassed, but Diana doesn’t seem to care as she claps a hand on Clark’s shoulder and pulls him into the room. “Stop being so awkward and get on with it.”

She gives Bruce another smile before she nudges Clark in that little bit further and promptly slams the door shut. It makes Bruce jump, the noise louder than he expects, and he watches as Clark shifts awkwardly before gesturing at the bed.

“Would you mind if I sit?” he asks, and Bruce smothers a smile as he nods. Clark looks relieved and he grosses the room in two strides to sit where Diana was before. He’s far enough away that to touch him Bruce will have to actively reach out to him, but he pushes away the urge to rest his head against Clark’s shoulder and steeples his fingers together in his lap instead.

The silence drags on, and Bruce wonders if maybe Clark is expecting him to start, but when he glances up he sees Clark is looking at him with an open mouth and is clearly lost for words.

“Hi?” Bruce offers, trying to break the tension, and Clark jumps at his voice before shaking his head and giving Bruce a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he says back as he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. I don’t… I’m not too sure what to say.” He shrugs as his hand falls to his lap and he drops his gaze. “Last time I saw you, you were unconscious and looking pretty much out of action.” He glances up shyly from under his eyelashes. “It’s good to see some colour in your cheeks.”

Bruce offers him a small smile, one that makes Clark beam back at him, and he shuffles a little down the bed to press his legs against Clark’s back. It makes Clark jump, but he doesn’t move away and instead reaches out with a shaky hand to cover Bruce’s right knee.

“You scared me, Bruce,” Clark finally says, his voice small, and Bruce is surprised at the sheer honesty. “When I…” He swallows and shakes his head. “I’m using to hearing it, you know?” He gestures vaguely at Bruce. “Your heartbeat. I’ve been tracking it for months now. And it’s been constant. A steady beat.” Clark huffs and as he hunches his shoulders. “I don’t mean for it to sound so weird-”

“It’s not,” Bruce interrupts, and Clark frowns. “It’s… comforting.”

Clark shakes his head but there’s a smile there. “It stopped,” he continues, and that makes Bruce’s shoulders tense. “I was laughing with Barry one moment and then the next it just stopped.” Clark shudders, and Bruce’s fingers twitch with the need to reach out to him. “It wasn’t for long, but it was long enough that I knew something was wrong.” He sighs, and Bruce watches his other hand tense into a fist. “I didn’t think, just knew I had to go. Arthur has already chewed me out for not taking the time to get changed.”

“I heard,” Bruce admits, and Clark looks at him in surprise before shaking his head.

“Then you would’ve heard that there was no time,” he says, and Bruce slowly nods. Clark seems received. “If I’d gotten there a moment later then I dread to think what they would’ve done to you, Bruce. Already this is enough.” His jaw is hard and tense as he gestures at Bruce. “Enough to make your heart stop for a moment. I…” He trails off again, and Bruce wonders if his jaw will snap. Already his tension is palpable, and Bruce decides enough is enough.

It hurts to move so freely, but Bruce grits his teeth and shuffles down the bed until his knees are bent and pressing against Clark’s back, and he reaches out to wrap his arms around Clark’s chest. He finally gives into the urge of pressing his forehead to Clark’s right shoulder, and he can feel how tense Clark is beneath him but he doesn’t care.

Clark’s hands both come up and wrap around Bruce’s arm, and for a moment Bruce wonders if maybe he’s misread the situation and gone too far, but Clark just holds on as his head bows and shoulders shake. He’s not crying, no, Bruce doesn’t think so. But there is a lot of pent-up emotions that Clark lets out in staggering gasps and Bruce just holds him as he rocks through them.

Time ticks by unseen and Bruce turns his head onto his side as he looks out the window to the lake. It’s a beautiful day, sun streaming down onto the water. No glare, just the reflection of the trees, and it’s soothing to watch the gentle ripples on the lake caused by nearby ducks and falling leaves.

Eventually, Clark finally rolls his shoulders back, sits up a little straighter, and his grip on Bruce’s arms becomes a little less desperate. He turns his head, his breath ruffling Bruce’s hair, but Bruce doesn’t have the urge to move. It’s peaceful here, calming, and Clark drops his head to rest on Bruce’s.

“My father built this place for my mother,” Bruce finally says, and even though he doesn’t move Bruce can tell Clark is listening. “She loved the manor, but this lake was her favourite place. She use to bring me down with her and we’d sit and feed grapes to the ducks and make daisy chains on the banks. Sometimes, if Alfred came too, we’d sit in a wooden boat and Alfred would row us around the outskirts.” It makes him smile at the memories, something he doesn’t often do when he remembers his parents. “My father saw how much time she spent here and built it for her one Christmas.”

“A lavish present,” Clark murmurs, and Bruce nods.

“Lavish people,” he agrees. He drops his arms from around Clark’s shoulders, one landing in his lap and the other in Clark’s. Clark’s hands fall with it though until they’re wrapped tightly around Bruce’s fingers. “She spent so much time here that the manor was vacant more often than not. When they died… I stayed in the manor for a long time. I thought that’s what they would’ve wanted from me, to keep the Wayne name going.”

He drops his gaze to their linked hands, and when he’s silent for too long Clark gives them a squeeze.

“When I turned eighteen I packed up my things and moved here,” he continues, his voice quieter. “I told you once that the traditions of the Wayne family died on the same street as my parents, but it took me ten years to accept that. Four years after that, I picked up the mantel of Batman.” Bruce flexes his fingers, but when Clark starts to let go he grabs on tighter. It’s hard to open up, hard to crack open the seal that he’s had for years, but he can feel his chest becoming lighter as he goes. “I said goodbye to Bruce Wayne the day I first put on the Batsuit, and for years I’ve not let anyone into my life. For safety, for their safety. My boys have already gone through so much, I could never put someone else through what they have.” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “And I’ve never found someone who I’d willingly give up being Batman for-”

“I don’t want you to stop being Batman,” Clark suddenly interrupts, and Bruce closes his mouth with an audible click. He’s surprised when Clark pulls his hands away but manhandles Bruce around until his palms are on Bruce’s cheeks and his thumbs are on his cheekbones. It’s so intimate, and there’s such intense eye contact that Bruce feels his cheeks start to heat up. “I never want you to stop being Batman,” Clark continues. “Batman is who you are, who you’ve always been. Asking you to give that up is just like…” he trails off, and Bruce drops his gaze.

“Like Lois asking you to give up being Superman,” he murmurs, and Clark makes a small wounded noise. He remembers their conversation, pressed tightly together on the stairs of Martha Kent’s house.

“You told me that you should never have to make room for someone in your life,” Clark continues, voice quieter. “And you’re right. But if someone was there, someone that just fit…” He grits his teeth, and Bruce looks up to see him looking almost heartbroken. “I know you said that it wouldn’t be possible. That letting someone into your life isn’t an option and I’ve tried to respect that even though I knew that it was mutual and-”

“You knew?” Bruce cuts him off sharply, and Clark looks up with those huge doe eyes. “You knew all along how I’ve felt about you?”

Clark gives him a lopsided smile. “I can hear your heartbeat, Bruce,” he points out. “Of course I knew.” He rubs his thumb over Bruce’s cheekbone and Bruce almost melts into the affection. “I’ve tried to stay back because I knew that you didn’t want your feelings.”

Bruce blinks at him for a long moment before suddenly he’s laughing. Laughing hard enough that his stomach hurts and all his wounds are tugging and pulling but it doesn’t matter. He catches Clark’s hands as they drop from Bruce’s face, Clark clearly uncertain what’s going on, and Bruce tugs him close until their foreheads are pressed together.

“We’re complete idiots,” he manages to say, and Clark blinks once before Bruce closes the gap between them in a hungry kiss.

It takes a moment for Clark to respond, but when he does he pulls Bruce across the bed until they’re pressed chest to chest. He kisses like a desperate man, pulling and pushing at the same time, and Bruce lets him take the lead as Clark uses that little bit extra height to tip Bruce back enough that it’s perfect. Bruce’s hands trail up to twine into Clark’s hair, and he loves the delicious noises Clark makes into the kiss. It’s intoxicating, and every damn emotion that Bruce has held pent up in him for months he pours in as Clark responds.

It’s too damn short though and when they pull away, both gasping for breath, Bruce wants nothing more than to dive back in. But he can’t look away from Clark’s red cheeks, the shine on his lips, the dazed look in his eyes, the slow smile as Bruce cards his fingers through Clark’s hair and presses their foreheads back together.

“I think,” Bruce murmurs, his breath beating against Clark’s skin and making Clark shudder. Bruce tightens his fingers around Clark’s hair. “I think that there’s a good chance I’m falling in love with you.”

Clark goes still for a long moment, and Bruce feels worry starting to build, before Clark breaks out into a ridiculously large grin as he drags Bruce forward into another searing kiss. Bruce barely has time to return it, bewildered at the sudden enthusiasm, and when Clark pulls back again he’s still grinning.

“Dammit, Bruce,” he practically laughs, “I’m almost certainly in love with you.”

Bruce doesn’t get time to register those words as Clark pulls him in again and again, and Bruce feels himself grinning into each kiss until they’re laughing together and Bruce feels a weight in his chest lift until he’s breathing freely and happily because Clark is here and Clark loves him and they’re such bloody idiots but it’s okay.

It’s okay.