Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Dick asks distractedly, throwing a few shirts in a duffel bag. His afternoon classes were cancelled because it was the day before Thanksgiving, and Alfred called that morning to say he was going to pick him up that afternoon, even though Dick is more than capable of taking the bus like a normal college freshman. But, best not to argue with Alfred.

His roommate doesn’t answer. Dick zips up his bag and looks up.

“Are you going home to Kansas?” he asks. His roommate doesn’t talk much. The only reason Dick even knows he’s from Kansas is the welcome packet he received when he moved in.

His roommate shakes his head, and there’s something about the look on his face… Dick asks him whether he’d like to join him for Thanksgiving before he knows what he’s doing. He knows it’s probably a bad idea. Bruce and he do nothing but argue, especially since Jason moved in to the Manor a few weeks ago. And there are a lot of secrets hidden in the Manor, although Bruce invites people in on a semi-regular basis. It would be too hard to keep up his image as a promiscuous wastrel if he didn’t.

“You don’t have to,” Dick says when his roommate doesn’t answer right away. “But I’d appreciate the company.”

“… okay,” Clark replies finally. “Thanks.”

* * *

30 minutes later, Dick’s phone pings with a text – Alfred is waiting outside.

“Ready?” he asks, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. Clark nods, picking up his backpack.

“Master Dick,” Alfred greets him outside the limo. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Clark, but doesn’t say anything. Dick has a feeling they’ll be discussing his surprise guest later.

“Alfred, this is my roommate, Clark. Clark, this is Bruce’s butler, Alfred,” Dick introduces the two.

“Pleasure to meet a friend of Master Dick” Alfred says as he opens the back door and gestures for them to get in.

“Thank you,” Clark stutters a bit, climbing in behind Dick. He and Dick sit in silence as Alfred walks around to the driver’s seat and pulls out. Dick doesn’t break the silence, pulling out his phone instead to text with Babs. He notices that Clark doesn’t pull out his phone, instead gazing out the window as the urban landscape of Gotham gives way to trees and grass, the closer they get to the Manor.

“Dick?” Clark says, as the gate opens and they turn into the Manor’s long driveway.

“Yeah?” he answers distractedly, barely looking up.

“The Bruce you mentioned earlier. He wouldn’t happen to be Bruce Wayne, would he?” his roommate asks.

As the limo slows to a stop in front of the Manor, Dick hears a noise from Alfred that could best be described as a snort.

“Uh… yeah,” Dick replies, a bit surprised. Dick is decent at reading people, and it seems like Clark genuinely didn’t know. Dick opens the door and clambers out without waiting for Alfred. Clark takes a deep breath before following him out of the limo and into the Manor.

“I’ll make up a guest room for Mr. Kent,” Alfred says. “Supper will be ready at 6p.m.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick replies before turning to Clark. “Want a tour?”

* * *

A few hours later, Dick leads Clark into the smaller dining room. Bruce and Jason are already seated. Dick introduces them.

“Thank you for having me,” Clark says politely.

“Why’re you here?” Jason asks. “Are you Dick’s boyfriend?”

Dick flushes.

“He’s my roommate, brat!” he says, glaring and clenching his fists to keep himself from hitting the little twerp.

Alfred entering with the food gets them all to settle down, and Clark’s presence keeps their discussion away from all things Batman and Robin. Instead, Bruce and Dick carefully pick their way through a conversation about how classes are going. It’s the first time in months that they’re able to talk without it devolving immediately into an argument, but Dick is trying very hard to keep things amicable for Clark.

Bruce turns to Clark. “How do you like Gotham University so far?”

“It’s very nice, Mr. Wayne,” Clark says. “I’m learning a lot. Um… I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Clark,” Bruce replies, a bit smarmily, but not the full Brucie routine. “Any friend of Dick…”

“No – um. Thanks of course for having me. But I mean, for the Wayne Foundation scholarship. I wouldn’t have been able to afford tuition without it,” Clark replies, looking down at his plate and blushing a bit.

Jason opens his mouth, but Dick is quick enough to stick a roll in it before he puts his foot in it.

“Oh, I don’t have much to do with it,” Bruce says. “The Foundation awards the scholarships and all of that.”

There is an awkward silence as Jason furiously chews on the roll, Clark keeps looking down at his plate, Bruce keeps looking at Clark, and Dick keeps looking at Bruce looking at Clark.

And then Clark’s head jerks up, looking to the window. “Get down!” he yells, and Dick is dropping at the urgency in his voice even as the window shatters. He looks, and Bruce is under the table as well, Clark is pulling Jason down to join them, and a bullet is lodged in the far wall – right passed where Bruce’s head would have been if he hadn’t gotten down when Clark said.

Dick is itching to get down to the cave and slip into his suit, and he knows Bruce must be feeling the same. But they all look at Clark.

“How?” he asks. How did Clark know that someone would be shooting at Bruce tonight? Was he in on it? And then changed his mind?

Clark doesn’t answer. Instead, he sighs and gets up. Dick lunges to keep him from moving out from the cover of the thick dining room table, but misses. A second later, another window shatters. Dick watches in disbelief as Clark catches the bullet, disappears, and then reappears seconds later holding Deadshot off the ground by his belt using one hand. He's holding a sniper rifle in the other hand. Deadshot is struggling and cursing, but Clark doesn’t even seem to be straining to keep all two hundred plus pounds of him a good foot off the ground. He places the rifle on the table, then reaches out to squeeze the base of Deadshot’s neck. He falls still immediately.

“Did you just Vulcan nerve pinch Deadshot?!” Jason asks and yells at the same time.

Clark just shrugs, dropping Deadshot on the floor.

“Are you from Themyscira?” Dick asks. “I thought they were all women?”

“I’m from Kansas,” Clark replies. Dick may not be the world’s greatest detective, but he knows there’s more to the story than that.

* * *

Clark offers to leave Deadshot tied up outside Gotham PD. Bruce sighs and says that Batman will do it.

“Um…” Clark looks down, and his eyes go out of focus for a few seconds. “Sure. I’ll just wait here while you go . . . call him.”

He knows. Somehow, Clark knows. And if Dick knows that Clark knows, then Bruce knows that Clark knows. But Bruce doesn't say anything. Instead, Bruce leaves the room, and a few minutes later, the lights in the dining room go out. When they come back on, Deadshot and his rifle are gone. Clark is still standing in the middle of the room, looking somewhat lost.

Alfred walks in, and says dinner will be held in the large dining room. Clark blinks once.

“You… still want me to stay?” he asks quietly.

“I insist on it, Master Clark,” Alfred says, and Dick shoots him a sharp look. Master Clark? Alfred meets his eyes, and then looks at the bullet embedded in the wall. The one that would have found its way through Bruce’s brain if Clark hadn’t been there.

Master Clark it is.

* * *

Dinner in the large dining room is subdued. Dick has a million questions, but Clark isn’t answering them. It seems he has the most interesting dinner plate in all existence, for all the attention he seems to be paying it. Clark drops his fork and looks up at the door right before it opens, meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“I have something to show you,” Bruce says, beckoning Clark to follow him. “Stay here,” he says, when Dick and Jason go to follow.

“You said he isn’t your boyfriend?” Jason asks, as soon as the door shuts behind Bruce and Clark. “I call dibs.”

“You’re fifteen!” Dick shouts, and he is seconds from wrestling the little twerp to the floor when Alfred walks back in, raising his eyebrow. Dick stomps up to his room instead.

* * *

A light knock on his door wakes Dick up. He sits up in bed, just as Clark opens the door. Clark closes the door behind him and shuffles his feet.

“I am from Kansas,” he says, seemingly focusing on the pattern of the rug under Dick’s bed. “I grew up there. Lived my whole life there, until I came to Gotham for college. But – I was born on a planet called Krypton. My birth parents sent me here as a baby because the planet – it was destroyed.”

Dick isn’t sure what to say. How do you offer condolences for the loss of an entire planet?

“Mr. Wayne said I should tell you - I didn’t know anything about the hit out on him. I didn’t even know Mr. Wayne was your dad before we got here. I came with you because I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and you were nice.” Clark says quickly, still looking at the floor.

“What about your parents?” Dick asks. It strikes him as sad that he's been living with Clark for almost three months and barely knows anything about him.

“Dead.”

Well, Dick supposes if he is going to be replaced as Robin anyway, maybe it would be better if it was Clark, rather than Jason. It would be hard to complain about being replaced when the replacement was both seemingly bulletproof and faster than said bullet, as opposed to a little twerp who tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Dick wakes up early and heads down to the Cave for training. Early morning is the best time to go down to the Cave – Bruce will be sleeping for hours yet, after a late patrol. Dick isn’t welcome on patrol, and he isn’t Robin anymore, but if he’s ever going to become more than a sidekick, he’ll need to keep in shape.

He’s upside down on the rings when Clark walks in. Dick startles, but manages a clean dismount anyway. They both stand there awkwardly for a minute, before Clark breaks the silence.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asks.

“I thought Bruce was going to help train you?” Dick asks, before moving to the bars. Clark nods, watching him. “Then what do you think you can learn from me?”

“I’d like to be friends,” Clark responds. “You were kind to me when you didn’t have to be.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true,” Dick answers, even as he continues his routine. They’ve been roommates for months, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have Clark’s phone number.

“I’m tired of being alone,” Clark says softly. Dick sighs, dismounting again, and throws the hand tape to Clark. Clark looks down at it curiously.

“To protect your hands,” Dick says. Clark smiles at him, and Dick has to blink at the force of it. He’s not sure he’s seen Clark smile before, not like that.

“You did see me catch that bullet last night, right?” he asks, putting the tape down and pulling off his shirt.

“Fuck!” Dick hears, and he turns to see Jason in the doorway of the training room. A light blush spreads over Clark’s cheeks, and the tops of his ears get a bit red, but he doesn’t react otherwise.

“Go away, twerp,” he says. Jason ignores him.

“You’re ripped,” he says to Clark, clearly looking Clark up and down before staring at his abs. Dick is finding it hard to blame him. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen abs like that in real life. They look photoshopped.

“Thanks?” Clark says, flushing a bit more.

“Stop staring,” Dick hisses, tearing his own eyes away from Clark and trying to shuffle Jason out of the room. “You’re making him uncomfortable!” Jason ignores him again, stepping around him to get to the weights.

“I need to train too!” he says. “It’s been three months, and Bruce still won’t let me patrol.”

It took more than six months before Bruce would let him patrol, but saying so probably won’t make Jason any more patient.

* * *

“Higher!” Jason yells, as Clark throws Dick in the air yet again. Dick flips and Clark catches him with ease, just as Bruce walks into the training room.

“Sorry!” Clark says, putting Dick down gently. “We were just…”

“Training?” Bruce asks, a quirk to his lips that might be considered a smile.

Clark smiles back, sunshine bright, and Bruce – Bruce blinks, and his pupils dilate, and his breathing stays very, very steady. He doesn’t look anywhere but Clark’s face, even though Clark’s biceps and abs and pecs are all right there for the ogling.

Fuck.

“We haven’t found anything too heavy for Clark to lift!” Jason chimes in, excitedly. It’s the most genuine Dick has ever seen the kid, and he’s almost likeable like this. Almost.

“What did you try?” Bruce asks.

“All the weights, and then the weights with Dick on top, and then the weights with me and Dick on top,” Jason babbles. Clark turns that devastating smile on Jason, and he cuts off. Dick notices that his ears are turning red.

“I told them that I was able to pick up the tractor on the farm. I don’t recall there ever been something I couldn’t lift or move, not after about age ten or so. But I mean, I wasn’t really testing it or anything. It was a struggle to try to seem normal,” Clark says, and his tone is almost wistful.

“It’s important to test your limits. You need to know where they are, to push past them or work around them in the field,” Bruce is saying, a speech Dick has heard a thousand times and ignores, in favor of watching Bruce’s body language.

Bruce steps forward, carefully placing a hand on Clark’s bare shoulder in an almost paternal gesture. A touch he might have given Dick, has given Dick countless times when something frustrated or upset him. Except he has never been quite so precise with Dick – carefully keeping his eyes on his face, carefully placing his hand exactly just so, holding himself almost preternaturally still. No, although Bruce is doing his best to mimic it, Dick can tell that there’s absolutely nothing fatherly about the way he feels towards Clark.

Bruce steps back, and Clark turns to pull on his shirt. He hasn’t sweat, not even a little, despite the paces they put him through. His head pops through the neck of the shirt, his dark hair a riot of curls, and Dick notices Bruce’s fingers twitch, just so. Dick tries to turn it off, the way Bruce trained him to observe every small detail, but he can’t do it. Not in the Cave. He turns to Jason instead. The kid hasn’t been with Bruce long enough to read him the way Dick can, and he doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. When he meets Dick’s eyes, the smile that had been lurking around his mouth turns into a frown.

“Dinner will be ready in one hour,” Alfred informs them from the doorway. Dick takes his chance and leaves, mumbling that he needs a shower.

* * *

Clark comes to dinner in a button down shirt two sizes too big for him, and the same jeans and beat up sneakers he wears every day. Now that Dick is paying attention, he wonders if those are the only jeans and shoes that Clark owns.

It surprises him that Bruce is wearing jeans and a button down shirt as well, no tie in sight. As Clark’s tense shoulders relax on seeing Bruce’s (relatively) casual outfit, Dick wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised at all. Bruce has always been good at reading people – knowing what it will take to get them to relax, to talk. That skill, honed for the purposes of stopping crime, has now been turned full blast on Dick’s roommate.

Jason is clearly still not used to the larger dining room, to the fancy silverware, or the sheer amount of food that Alfred puts on the table. He still eats like he’s starving – like he’s on the street and food can be taken from him at any time. Dick doesn’t say anything, and carefully averts his gaze. He might not like the little twerp, but he knows his life hasn’t been easy.

In contrast, Clark seems to know exactly what silverware to use, and doesn’t seem overwhelmed by any of it. Thinking back, he hadn’t seemed particularly impressed when Dick had given him a tour of the Manor yesterday, either. He does seem impressed with Alfred’s cooking, however, particularly the mashed potatoes.

“These are amazing,” he says. “I haven’t had mashed potatoes from scratch in… It’s been a while. They aren’t the same from the box.”

“What about the ones in the dining hall?” Dick asks, curiously, before he thinks better of it.

“… I don’t have a meal plan,” Clark replies. He stares down at his plate, hunches his shoulders.

“Well, you are welcome to come to the Manor for dinner anytime,” Bruce says, his tone carefully light. “I can’t imagine it would take you very long to get here?”

“Over an hour by bus,” Clark says, relaxing a bit. “Less than a minute by foot.”

Jason is obviously impressed, asking Clark how he became meta. Clark startles a bit, looking at Bruce in surprise.

“I didn’t tell him,” Bruce responds to the wordless question. “It’s your story to tell.”

“I’m not a metahuman,” Clark tells Jason. “I was born on a different planet.”

“You’re an alien?!” Jason asks excitedly. But even he can’t miss the way Clark flinches at the word. Dick rescues him before he can make a bigger mess of it.

“How fast are you, top speed?” he asks. Clark doesn’t quite relax, but he loosens up enough to answer Dick’s question.

“Fast,” he says. “Fast enough that a bullet seems to move slow. But I haven’t tested it. I haven’t really tested any of it – not the strength, the speed, the durability. When I was 14, I was hit by a car. It pushed me through the railing I was leaning on, and into the water below. I walked away without a scratch.”

Clark stops for a second. “I’ve never . . . I’ve never just told anyone that before.”

Bruce reaches over, covering Clark’s hand with his own. “You’re safe here, Clark. You don’t need to hide what you can do.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Clark smiles. Their gazes meet.

“Please, call me Bruce,” Bruce offers. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Clark says, blushing and turning his gaze back to his dinner plate. Bruce’s eyes don’t move from Clark’s face, even as he pulls his hand back.

Oh god. Dick is going to have to talk to Bruce.

Chapter Text

Clark and Jason are already in the training room when Dick goes down the next morning. He can hear them as he walks down the staircase to the Cave. They seem to be having a serious discussion, and Dick thinks about staying where he is and listening in, thinks about turning around and going back to bed and leaving them to it, thinks about…

“I can hear you,” Clark says, raising his voice. “It’s okay, you can come in. We were just talking about what it was like to grow up in Smallville versus Gotham.”

“Smallville?” Dick asks as he walks into the training room. “That’s not actually the name of the town, is it?”

“A bit on the nose, I know,” Clark replies. “But it wasn’t a bad place to grow up. It was just a bit…”

“Small?” Jason offers with a smirk, when Clark trails off.

“Small,” Clark agrees.

Dick starts his routine, and Clark and Jason follow along. Jason is struggling, and Clark isn’t being challenged, but Dick isn’t sure how to tweak it so they all get the most out of training. He knows his body, and his routine, but Bruce would really be the one to go to design a better program for both Jason and Clark.

After a while, Clark looks at the clock and mentions having to leave.

“Leave?” Jason asks. “I thought you and Dick were staying all weekend?”

“I have to go to work,” Clark replies. “I’m scheduled for a double at the bar.”

Dick thought Clark worked at the university library, and says so. Clark explains that the library was part of his work-study, and he picks up hours at the bar when he can. He says he was able to get a double shift because they were a bit short-staffed the day after Thanksgiving, because a lot of the bartenders are students who went home for the holiday.

“You’ll come back when you’re done?” Jason asks eagerly. Clark shoots an uncertain look at Dick.

“It’ll be late,” he says. “I’m not sure…”

“You’ll come back when you’re done,” Dick says confidently. “What time does the bar close?”

“Two,” Clark responds. “But then I have to help clean up. It’ll be after three by the time I’m done.”

Dick explains that timing is fine, given that Bruce usually isn’t back from patrol until three or so, and Alfred rarely goes to sleep before Bruce is back in the Cave.

“Shouldn’t you ask Mr. Wayne?” Clark asks.

“This is my home too,” Dick replies. “And anyway, I know Bruce would agree with me. You should come back after you’re done at the bar.”

“Okay,” Clark agrees. “If you’re sure Mr. Wayne wouldn’t mind. Um… I have another shift tomorrow too, but it doesn’t start until seven.”

“You’re welcome to come back tomorrow night too,” Dick says. “I won’t be going back to the dorm until Sunday night.”

Dick offers his phone to Clark and asks him to put in his number, that way they can text if anything changes. Clark doesn’t take it. When Dick insists, Clark mumbles that he doesn’t have a phone.

Dick isn’t sure what to say.

“I’m happy to give you my email? I try to check it at least a few times a day, because that’s how the library and the bar reach me. There’s a tablet at the bar that we use for reservations, and the manager is usually okay with me checking it there during break if I’m quick?” Clark says, not meeting Dick’s eyes.

Dick asks for Clark’s email address and saves it as a contact on his phone. He sees Jason doing the same.

“Please come back here after your shift tonight,” Dick says again, a bit concerned that he may have embarrassed Clark into staying away.

“I will,” Clark replies. “Thanks again for the invite. It was really nice, having a family Thanksgiving again. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Dick agrees, and Clark says goodbye and is gone in a blur.

“You’re an asshole,” Jason says.

“What? How am I an asshole?” Dick protests.

“You’ve been roommates for months, and you never offered to exchange phone numbers before or even noticed that he doesn’t a phone?” Jason replies. “You embarrassed him.”

Dick doesn’t have anything to say to that. Jason is right.

“You may have grown up in the circus, Grayson, but I don’t think you have any idea what it’s like, to be that poor,” Jason says, before heading to the showers.

It makes Dick think. Think about how Clark wears the same jeans and sneakers every day, and always seems to be wearing the same blue or red t-shirt. Think about how Clark doesn’t have a meal plan at the university, and never orders delivery to their dorm room, but accepts with a grateful smile whenever Dick offers him a slice of pizza. Think about how Clark doesn’t have a phone, and how Dick barely sees Clark in their dorm room at all. He wonders how much time Clark spends at his two jobs.

Dick thinks about where he would be if not for Bruce taking him in. For all their fights, he knows how lucky he is to have Bruce, not to mention Alfred (and maybe even Jason now). He thinks about just how lucky Clark is not; that despite all his abilities, he’s all alone.

Dick resolves to be a better friend.

* * *

Bruce doesn’t come down for lunch. Dick thinks about his resolution to be a better friend to Clark, and goes up to knock on Bruce’s bedroom door.

“Not now, Alfred,” Bruce mumbles.

“Not Alfred,” Dick says, opening the door and walking into the room. “We need to talk.”

“Later,” Bruce groans and turns away from him. “I was fighting Penguin’s goons all night.”

“We need to talk now,” Dick insists. Bruce doesn’t move. “It’s about Clark.”

Bruce sighs and turns back to face him, squinting blearily. “What?”

Dick isn’t actually sure how to start this conversation. As he fumbles for his words, the sleepiness clears from Bruce’s expression and his eyes get sharp.

“You noticed,” he says, his voice slipping into a lower register. Deeper than Brucie Wayne, but not quite Batman.

“I noticed,” Dick agrees. “I’m not sure if Clark noticed, but he’s not stupid. He will. And if you were being honest with Clark last night that you want him to be comfortable here, you need to stop.”

Dick continues before Bruce can say anything: “Clark has no one and nowhere to go. I’d like the Manor to be a safe place for him, the way it has been for me since you took me in, and the way I’m sure it has been for Jason since you took him in. So stop look at him like you want to eat him.” An uncomfortable pause. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,” Bruce cuts him off.

“He’s my age,” Dick says. “How would you feel if some thirty-something was looking at me, the way you’re looking at him?”

“I know,” Bruce responds, getting up and walking away from Dick, to stand by the window. “He doesn’t look like he’s eighteen.”

Dick snorts. “No, he looks like a freaking Greek god. I don’t know how I went three months without noticing that.”

“He’s good at hiding in plain sight,” Bruce replies. “I investigated him before you moved into the dorms.”

“What?” Dick asks, but he’s not really surprised. Bruce has always been protective.

“I know he’s had a shitty few years,” Bruce says, but doesn’t explain any further. “And I did mean it when I said I wanted Clark to be comfortable here.”

“So you’ll…” Dick trails off, not quite sure what he wants to ask.

“I won’t make him uncomfortable,” Bruce replies, turning from the window. “Anything else?”

“Um… I’d like to get a new phone,” Dick says.

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “That’s what your allowance is for. Is it not enough?”

“No,” Dick replies, because Bruce is more than generous. “No, I want to get a new phone so I can find a way to offer my old phone to Clark. He doesn’t have one. And I’d like to keep my old phone on the same plan, so Clark doesn’t have to pay for the monthly charges.”

Bruce blinks. Dick can tell that he’s surprised. “He doesn’t have a phone?” he asks, before seemingly musing to himself: “I thought he was just being polite when I didn’t see it during training or meals.”

“Any ideas?” Dick asks.

“Leave it to me,” Bruce responds. “Now get out so I can go back to sleep.”

Dick goes.

Chapter Text

Clark must have come back to the Manor at some point overnight, because he’s already training with Jason in the Cave when Dick comes down the next morning. They spend a companionable few hours before showering and heading upstairs for lunch. Bruce doesn’t join them, but it isn’t that unusual. Dick asks Clark if he wants to watch a movie in the home theater, and Jason of course invites himself along. Clark smiles at the kid, and Dick doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away.

They get comfortable in the recliners, popcorn and soda and candy in hand. Dick starts bickering with Jason over what to watch, scrolling through the nearly infinite options available to them.

“What about Gray Ghost?” Clark asks, as Dick scrolls by it. Dick kicks Jason when it looks like he might complain, clicking on the icon and pressing play. Jason scowls at Dick, but can’t seem to hold the expression in the face of Clark’s beaming smile as the theme song begins to play.

“That was great,” Clark says as the credits roll on the first episode.

“It was better than I expected,” Jason admits. “Next episode?”

Dick doesn’t bother to hide his smirk, letting the second episode start. Both Clark and Jason are immediately enraptured. It’s good, but Dick has seen it all before - he watched the entire series with Bruce a few years ago. The three of them spend the afternoon binging it, only pausing to get more snacks or for quick bathroom breaks.

“One more episode,” Jason begs, as Alfred enters the theater to let them know supper is ready.

“The theater will still be here after supper, Master Jason,” Alfred replies, turning on the lights as Dick pauses the episode. “You will of course be joining us, Master Clark?”

Clark thanks him and agrees. Bruce is already at the table when they walk in. Clark thanks Bruce yet again for letting him stay at the Manor, and Dick shoots Bruce a stern look when he stares at Clark a bit too much to be polite. Bruce notices, turning to Jason to ask about his day.

“We trained in the morning,” Jason says. “When can I be Robin?”

“No shop talk at supper, Master Jason,” Alfred chides gently as he plates their food.

Jason sighs, but switches subjects to their Gray Ghost marathon instead. Bruce and Dick share a smile as he babbles a bit about the episodes they watched, not used to Jason being quite so excitable.

“It was really good,” Clark chimes in, when Jason takes a moment to breath. “My pa used to quote the catchphrases all the time, but I’d never seen it before. I thought all the film was lost in a fire?”

“The film at the studio was,” Bruce agrees. “But Simon Trent, who played the Gray Ghost, had a personal collection of the old film reels.”

“And a gigantic fan with deep pockets,” Dick teases. Clark looks from Dick to Bruce, tilting his head.

“It was a good investment for Wayne Entertainment,” Bruce replies primly, but Dick can tell that he’s holding back a grin.

“Do you… have any of the comics?” Clark asks.

“Does he?” Dick laughs. “Only the complete set in the main library, as well as a bunch of memorabilia in the Cave. I’ll show you after supper.”

“That would be great,” Clark says with a shy smile. “But I’m going to have to leave for my shift at the bar soon. Maybe tomorrow? I mean – if it’s okay that I come back, Mr. Wayne? I don’t mean to overstep…”

“You’re always welcome,” Bruce interrupts Clark’s babble, and shit – that’s a real smile. Not a licentious Brucie smirk, or Batman bearing his teeth to intimidate. “I apologize that we haven’t had a chance to train together yet. My current investigation should wrap up this week, so maybe we can test some of your powers next weekend if you and Dick can manage the visit?”

Oh, Bruce is a tricky bastard. He must know that Dick wasn’t planning to come back to the Manor again before Christmas, but Dick isn’t letting Clark visit the Manor by himself. Not with the way Bruce looks at him. But he’s also not going to prevent Bruce from helping Clark test and control his powers. Dick supposes that he and Bruce haven’t fought that much the past few days, and Jason is less of a twerp that he thought, and it is good to eat Alfred’s homemade cooking, rather than the stuff in the dining hall.

“I have to work next weekend,” Clark responds apologetically.

“All weekend?” Jason asks, wheedling a bit. “You can stop by whenever you aren’t working.”

“Um… I have shifts at the bar on Friday and Saturday night, and at the library during the day on Saturday and Sunday,” Clark replies, staring down at his plate, as his ears slowly turn red. He’s clearly embarrassed.

“You’re always welcome,” Bruce says again. “Perhaps dinner on Sunday?”

“Okay,” Clark replies uncertainly, looking to Dick. “My shift is over at 6pm.”

“I’m up for Sunday dinner,” Dick says encouragingly, glad to see Clark start to relax and smile again.

“Sunday dinner it is,” Bruce says. He then smoothly directs the conversation back to the Gray Ghost, and Dick is surprised at how quickly dinner seems to pass. Before he knows it, Clark is standing up and thanking Bruce and Alfred for dinner. Clark offers to help clear the table, and Alfred declines the offer and smoothly leads him to the door, insisting that he must return after he shift is over.

Dick spends some time after dinner studying, and then heads down to the Cave. Bruce hasn’t left for patrol yet, instead sitting at the computer. Dick brings him a cup of coffee, glancing at the screen. It appears to be a work schedule for the Gotham University library.

“Really?” he sighs, wishing he were surprised. “Did you look up the bar schedule yet? Or his class schedule?”

Bruce tilts his head but doesn’t otherwise respond, scrolling through the following week’s schedule. “Whenever he’s not in class, he’s working. I pulled up the details for his scholarship.”

“And?” Dick asks, when Bruce doesn’t explain further.

“It only covers tuition,” Bruce replies. “It doesn’t include a stipend for housing or anything else. I’ll contact the Foundation on Monday.”

“Clark isn’t stupid,” Dick says. “He’s going to realize something is up if the terms of his Wayne Foundation scholarship suddenly change right after he meets Bruce Wayne.”

“It won’t change for this semester,” Bruce responds. “Next semester, all Wayne Foundation full-tuition scholarships to Gotham University will also cover room and board, including a meal plan, as well as a technology stipend and a book allowance.”

Dick whistles: “That’s gonna cost a pretty penny.”

“It was an oversight to begin with,” Bruce says, not looking away from the computer. He pulls up a PDF of what looks to be Clark’s bank records. “All of his money seems to be going to the dorm fees and paying off old medical debts.”

“You have no boundaries,” Dick says sardonically, focusing on the screen. “What about food?”

“What about food?” Bruce asks, and a few keystrokes pulls up details regarding the medical debts.

“He doesn’t have a meal plan. What is he eating?” Dick asks. Bruce pauses for a second, before maneuvering back to the bank records.

“I can’t find any evidence of a credit or debit card,” he murmurs. “No cash withdrawals or checks. The bar seems to pay via direct deposit – maybe cash tips…”

“He’s not eating,” Dick says, a light bulb turning on. “At least not regularly. He doesn’t have a meal plan, and he doesn’t keep any food in the dorm room. Maybe he doesn’t need to eat?”

“Hmm…” Bruce acknowledges, and then pulls up camera footage from inside a bar, date-stamped from the previous day. He fast forwards to around noon, stopping when Clark enters the frame. Then he fast forwards again – Clark doesn’t leave the frame, pouring drinks and talking with the men sitting at the bar, mixing and pouring and talking. Dick can tell that his smile is forced. He doesn’t seem to take breaks, and he doesn’t eat anything.

Bruce stops the footage again around 6pm. One of Clark’s fellow bartenders is whispering in his ear. Clark sighs and nods, pulling off his shirt. Clark remains shirtless as he mixes a drink, leaning over to smile at an older man at the bar as he pours it into his glass. He gets a five dollar bill stuffed into the pocket of his jeans for his trouble. Bruce fast forwards again to the end of the night, until the bar is empty and Clark is wiping down the counter. One of the waiters comes from the kitchen and hands him a bowl of soup, which Clark accepts with a smile and eats quickly before moving from behind the bar to help stack chairs. Bruce pauses the footage there – Clark’s broad back to them, his flawless skin gleaming under the low lights of the bar. His shirt is still tucked in his back pocket.

“Maybe – maybe he doesn’t need to eat?” Dick asks again.

Bruce doesn’t reply.

“At least, not as much as a human?” Dick says, even as he thinks back to how much Clark seemed to enjoy Alfred’s food.

“I’ll get a mini-fridge delivered to your dorm room tomorrow night,” Bruce says abruptly. “Alfred will offer you leftovers tomorrow when you leave. Take them.”

Dick blinks, nodding.

“Dick?” Bruce says, as he exits from the footage of the bar as well as the various other tabs that seem to comprise Clark’s life.

“Yeah?” Dick asks.

“Don’t eat the leftovers,” Bruce tells him, pulling on his cowl and stalking to the Batmobile. Dick would like to put on his Robin suit and join him – it would be nice to go hit something. As the Batmobile peels out of the Cave, Dick goes to the training room instead and wraps his hands so he can spend some time hitting the punching bag.

It amazes Dick a bit, how protective he feels over someone who he’s seen catch a bullet in his hand without a scratch. He wonders if Bruce feels the same way.

Chapter Text

Dick sleeps in a bit on Sunday morning, then heads to the kitchen bleary eyed, planning to eat some cereal before searching to see if Clark came back to the Manor overnight. He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and blinks.

Then blinks again.

Alfred is seated at the counter, a long-suffering but fond look on his face, as Clark and Jason stand at the stove. They appear to be making pancakes?

“Good morning, Master Dick,” Alfred greets. Jason spares him a quick hello, and Clark beams at him, before they both turn back to the pan.

“Chocolate chips or blueberries?” Clark asks him over his shoulder.

“What?” Dick mumbles, sitting at the counter next to Alfred.

“Do you prefer chocolate chips or blueberries in your pancakes?” Clark asks again.

“Chocolate chips?” Dick answers.

Clark drops some chocolate chips into the pan. Then he grabs the metal handle, flicking his wrist. Dick watches in some amazement as what looks to be a perfectly round pancake flips over. Clark and Jason wait by the stove in companionable silence, occasionally bumping shoulders, until Clark moves the pancake onto a plate that he puts in front of Dick. Dick realizes that Clark places the chocolate chips to look like a smiley face.

“Master Clark’s pancakes are quite good,” Alfred says primly, before moving a container of maple syrup in front of Dick.

“Do you want some?” Dick asks, cutting the pancake in half.

“We already made pancakes for Alfred,” Jason says, shooting him a glare. “He likes blueberry better.”

“Yes, quite right,” Alfred says, smiling fondly as Jason turns back to watching Clark pour batter into a perfect circle on the pan. Dick doesn’t respond, choosing instead to slather his pancake in syrup. Alfred was understating things a bit – Clark’s pancakes are really good.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, Alfred continuing to look fondly at Clark and Jason as Dick gobbles down his pancake. Clark hands Jason the bag of chocolate chips, and Jason plops some down onto the pancake in the pan, in no apparent order or shape.

“Do you want to try flipping?” Clark asks Jason, who excitedly agrees. He reaches out to grab the handle, but Clark catches his wrist in a gentle grip. “It’s hot,” he says. “Let me just…”

And then he blows on the handle, very gently, and icicles form before melting. Clark wipes the water from the counter with a towel, touching the handle briefly as if to test the temperature, before gesturing to Jason to go ahead. “Jason?” Clark asks, when the kid doesn’t react right away. Dick doesn’t blame him. He pinches his arm to make sure he’s awake. Ouch.

“Was that freeze breath?” Jason asks excitedly, finally reaching out to grab the handle. “It’s not hot at all.”

“Uh, yeah,” Clark responds, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “I call it ice breath, but yeah.”

“So cool,” Jason mutters, flicking his wrist in an imitation of what Clark did earlier. Dick can tell right away that Jason didn’t do it quite right. It looks like the pancake is going to get all over the counter – and then Clark blurs, and the pancake is sitting back in the pan.

“It takes some practice,” Clark reassures Jason, like nothing happened at all. “It took me years to be able to flip them like that. You can use a spatula, if you’d like?” Jason is staring at Clark with almost literal stars in his eyes, and Dick sticks the last of his pancake into his mouth, wondering where that snot-nosed little kid went.

“How many years?” Jason asks, grabbing the now-empty plate in front of Dick and using a spatula to carefully move the pancake onto the plate. He hands the plate back to Dick, barely sparing him a glance before refocusing his attention on Clark.

“I helped Ma in the kitchen as far back as I can remember,” Clark says with a wistful smile as pours another perfectly round pancake into the pan. “We’d make pancakes together every Sunday morning. I haven’t made them since…” Clark trails off. None of them push him to say more.

“Do you want any more after this, Dick?” Clark asks, as he slides another pancake on Dick’s plate. Dick shakes his head, and Clark turns off the stove. “There’s still some batter left. Maybe we can cover it, and I can make a few pancakes for Mr. Wayne when he wakes up? I know it isn’t much at all, but I would really like to show him how grateful I am for letting me stay here.”

“Master Clark, you saved Master Bruce’s life on Wednesday,” Alfred says, even as he stands up to cover the batter. “As far as I am concerned, and as long as I live here, you are always welcome to stay.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Clark responds shyly. They clean up the kitchen, and then Clark quietly asks if it’s okay if he looks at the Gray Ghost comics in the library. Dick agrees, offering to show him the way – and Jason invites himself along, yet again.

“Wow,” Clark says, as they walk into the library. “This is even bigger than the library in the Mansion.” It’s the first time Dick’s seen him impressed with the Manor.

“The Mansion?” Jason asks.

“The Luthor Mansion in Smallville,” Clark tells him, before quickly changing the subject. “There are a lot more books here, though.”

“This is my favorite room in the Manor,” Jason admits quietly, grabbing Clark’s arm to pull him over to the shelf where Bruce keeps the comics, quickly locating and pointing out the full set of Gray Ghost comics. “I haven’t read these before. You?”

“Some of them,” Clark replies.

Dick lets Clark peruse the shelves, skipping over the comics and sitting down with a copy of The Great Gatsby instead. Jason joins him in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, a copy of the latest edition of Warrior Angel in his hands. After a few minutes, Clark joins them. Dick notices that the Gray Ghost comic he picked is from five or six years ago. Clark handles it carefully, and they sit and read in companionable silence until Alfred tells them lunch is ready.

Dick goes to put his book face down, but Jason hands him a bookmark. “It’s not good for their spines to leave them like that,” he says with a scowl.

Clark flips through the last few pages of his comic, before carefully closing it and returning it to the shelf.

“We can come back after lunch, if you want?” Dick offers, although he’d really rather get up and do something.

“I should probably go back to the dorm after lunch,” Clark says, looking wistfully at the shelf of comics before following Dick and Jason out of the library. “I need to do laundry before class tomorrow.”

“You can do that here!” Jason says. “I’m sure Alfred would be happy to do it for you. It’ll only take you a few seconds to get whatever you need, right?”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother. Alfred already does so much,” Clark replies, shaking his head.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be a bother. But you don’t have too,” Dick says, changing course when Clark hunches his shoulders defensively. “I should probably head back, too. I have some homework to do. If you want, I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t mind if you took a few comics with you? You can bring them back next weekend.”

“Mr. Wayne is still asleep,” Clark tells him as they sit down for lunch. “And I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking anything out of the library without his permission.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Dick reassures him. “But if makes you feel better, you can wait to ask him next Sunday when we come for dinner.”

Clark relaxes at that, agreeing with a smile.

* * *

After lunch, Clark and Jason say their good-byes, and Clark promises that he'll come with Dick for dinner next weekend. Clark then expresses his regrets to Alfred that he wasn't able to make Bruce any pancakes and asks that Alfred "please thank Mr. Wayne for his hospitality." Alfred smiles and agrees to pass on the message, though he again assures Clark that if any gratitude is owed, it is to Clark.

Then Alfred drives them back to the dorms. When they get out, he pops the trunk and hands Dick two rolling cooler bags.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick says, hugging him quickly. “We’ll see you next weekend.”

“Yes, thank you very much, Alfred,” Clark says, fidgeting with his backpack as he watches them separate from their hug.

“I hope you have an enjoyable week, Master Dick, Master Clark,” Alfred responds. “Please do let me know if you need anything.” Then he turns around, gets back in the limo, and drives away.

“You should write your name on anything you put in the hall refrigerator,” Clark tells him as they walk to their room. “Someone might take it anyway, but it’s a better bet if you put your name on it.”

“No need,” Dick says, opening the door to their room. He immediately notices that there is nothing mini about the refrigerator that Bruce had delivered to their room. It fits the previously empty space in the corner, and it isn’t anywhere near as large as the main refrigerator in the Manor, but it is obviously a full-sized refrigerator, with a freezer at the bottom. He opens the door and gets a face full of cool air as he puts in the containers of turkey and fixings that Alfred packed in the cooler bags.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to have a full-sized refrigerator in the dorms?” Clark says.

“It’ll be fine,” Dick says. If anyone tries to say something, he’ll just call Bruce, and he’ll get it straightened out. He knows the only reason Gotham University isn’t Wayne University is that Bruce’s ancestors declined the honor. But the name is still all over campus – the main library, one of the dining halls, the newest science labs, and more. They aren't going to kick up a fuss about a refrigerator, of all things.

There’s a box on top of the refrigerator, and Dick pulls it down to see what’s inside. It’s filled with plates and bowls and utensils. Bruce – or more likely Alfred – thought of everything. Dick closes the box and puts it back on top of refrigerator. He puts the empty cooler bags in his closet, and turns to unpack his duffel bag.

“Dick?” Clark asks quietly.

“Hmm?” Dick responds.

“Thanks again for inviting me to join you and your family for Thanksgiving,” Clark says. “I really appreciate it. It was the best weekend I’ve had in a really long time.”

Dick turns around to look at his roommate. Clark meets his eyes briefly, then blushes and turns to empty his backpack. Dick reaches out, grabbing his arm and pulling Clark to face him. He’s pretty sure the only reason he’s able to move Clark a millimeter is because Clark lets him.

“Clark, you saved Bruce’s life,” Dick says. “And maybe me and Jason and Alfred too – who knows what Deadshot would have done if you hadn’t been there. And you actually got Jason to open up to you this weekend. He’s usually so angry all the time, but I can tell that he really likes spending time with you. And I like spending time with you too. I’m sorry I was so self-absorbed the past few months.” Dick shoots Clark a look when he tries to object. “Before Wednesday, we barely spoke to each other at all. But now that I know what a cool dude you are, just try to get rid of me.”

He pulls Clark into a hug. Clark is stiff at first, but as Dick continues to hold on, he relaxes a bit, tentatively bringing his arms up to hug Dick back. Dick keeps hugging Clark until he leans into the hug fully.

“Thanks,” Clark murmurs into Dick’s neck.

“Now what did I say?” Dick teases, finally pulling away. Clark shrugs bashfully as they separate. They smile at each other, and then as if by silent agreement, turn back to emptying their respective bags and getting ready for the busy week ahead.

Chapter Text

Clark throws some clothes in his backpack and says he’s going down to the basement to do his laundry. Dick waves him out, sitting at his desk. He balances his chair on its two back legs as he looks around their shared dorm room.

His desk is a mess – stacks of books and papers, a reading lamp, his laptop and tablet and spare chargers. Clark’s desk is mostly bare – a few notebooks and folders, a couple pens. As far as Dick can tell, Clark doesn’t own any electronics at all. He supposes Clark could use the public computers at the university library where he works, which would help explain why Clark never spends any time in the room, sometimes not even to sleep. Dick remembers the work schedules that Bruce had hacked. Between classes, studying, and his two jobs, Dick imagines that Clark doesn’t get to relax very often.

Clark walks back into the room and Dick startles, tipping back slightly too far. Clark blurs, lifting and steadying the chair before Dick can right himself.

“Thinking deep thoughts?” Clark teases, setting the chair down gently. Dick shrugs, and goes right back to balancing on the back two legs of the chair. Clark squints and looks around the room furtively, as if checking to make sure no one is somehow hiding in their tiny dorm room. He squints at the ceiling, then goes to lock their door. Dick watches him curiously, wondering what’s going on.

Clark sits on his own chair, pulling his legs up so he’s in the lotus position. “Want to see something?” he asks.

“Sure,” Dick replies, wondering what new ability Clark might reveal.

Clark closes his eyes and starts taking deep, measured breaths. “I practiced a bit this weekend.” And then he starts to float, lifting a few inches off his chair, still in the lotus position.

“That’s amazing!” Dick exclaims, leaning forward. The front two legs of his chair hit the floor with a loud thump, and Clark startles, falling back to his own chair. It groans, but holds his weight. Dick didn’t mean to startle him, but: “You can float!”

“I know!” Clark beams back at him. “Mr. Wayne says he thinks one day I should be able to fly.”

“That’s amazing,” Dick repeats, though he wonders just when Bruce and Clark had that discussion. Maybe Wednesday night, when Bruce showed Clark the Cave? “Can you do anything else?” Dick asks.

Clark shrugs, a blush spreading over his cheeks: “My senses seem to be stronger, but I’m not sure how much.” Dick asks what he means, and Clark explains that he never tested his senses against a baseline, but he knows that his hearing is stronger, and his vision is stronger and different.

“Different how?” Dick asks.

“If I concentrate, I can see through things. And if I really concentrate, I can set stuff on fire with my eyes,” Clark says.

“No way!” Dick gasps. “Bruce must have been jealous when he heard that. His glares only make you feel like you’re on fire.” Clark snorts, and then they’re both laughing.

“What else?” Dick asks.

“Well, you saw the ice breath this morning,” Clark replies. “But I can also, kind of, like, suck in air and then… blow it out really hard?” Dick can’t hold his snort in this time, and then they’re both laughing again.

“It’s not funny,” Clark says, still laughing. “I figured that one out when I needed to put out the fires from my heat vision!” Dick asks what else. “Um… I can hold my breath for a really long time. I never tested the limit, but definitely more than 20 minutes.”

“You didn’t tell Bruce that, did you?” Dick asks, his eyes widening and his laughter trailing off as a thought pops into his brain and refuses to go away.

“Yes?” Clark replies. “That first night, when he took me down to the Cave, he asked all about my different abilities. Why?”

“No reason,” Dick says, quickly changing the subject. “Anything else?”

“You already know about the strength, the speed, and durability. And the floating,” Clark tells him with a shrug. “I think that’s just about it?”

“Oh yeah, no biggie,” Dick says with a smile. “The most amazing thing about you, Clark, is how humble you are.”

“Thanks,” Clark mumbles, ducking his head. “And thanks for listening. Before Wednesday, when I spoke with Mr. Wayne, I had never just told anyone before. But he said I should talk to you about my abilities, that you’re a good listener, and you’d keep my secret.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” Dick says softly. “And I’m glad you were able to talk to Bruce, too. I know he can be… difficult.”

“No, Mr. Wayne wasn’t difficult at all,” Clark replies earnestly, meeting Dick's eyes - and then averting his gaze as a blush spreads over his cheeks. “It was really easy to talk to him. And he was really patient with me, when I had trouble talking about my abilities. And then Friday night, I wasn’t sure if I was really welcome back at the Manor, and um… he was waiting outside of the bar when I clocked out. And he drove me back to the Manor, and he said that I was welcome, that you all really liked spending time with me. And he helped me meditate and practice how to float. Before that, I had only ever floated in my sleep.”

Shit.

“He drove you back to the Manor?” Dick asks.

Clark squints and looks around the room again. Then he whispers with a conspiratorial (giddy) smile: “Batman did! In the Batmobile. It was amazing!”

Bruce is one smooth fucker.

“What were you doing just then?” Dick asks, trying to change the subject away from Bruce. “With the squinting?”

“Checking for bugs or eavesdroppers,” Clark replies. “Because I can…”

“See through things,” Dick finishes with him, with a smile. “You really are amazing.”

Clark ducks his head and blushes, shrugging. He seems to have reached the end of his ability to take compliments, because he mumbles that he has to go move his clothes to the dryer before leaving the room.

After Clark leaves, Dick texts Bruce to thank him for the refrigerator. In his and Clark’s dorm room. Where Clark lives as Dick’s roommate. Because they are college freshmen.

Three little dots, but Bruce doesn’t text back. Dick thinks Bruce got the message.

* * *

The week passes pretty quickly. Dick sees more of Clark than he used to, and he’s able to guilt him into eating a lot of the food that Alfred packed (“It’s more convenient to eat in the dining hall, Clark, and if you don’t eat it, the food will go to waste!"). It’s also pretty amazing to watch Clark occasionally use his abilities in otherwise banal ways in the privacy of their room, such as floating up to get to the top bunk bed instead of using the stairs, or heating up leftovers with his eyes rather than walking to the hall kitchen to use the microwave.

Dick sees it as a sign of progress – that Clark is relaxing around him.

Clark also agrees to exchange class schedules, and he gives Dick his work schedule at both the library and bar (“See, you can just ask!” Dick wants to text Bruce, but doesn’t). And on Saturday night, Dick puts on his tightest jeans and a tight black t-shirt, and heads to the bar where Clark works. It’s a gay bar, and Dick is hot (and not unrecognizable from certain photos in the gossip rags); the bouncer waves him past the short line and inside without even asking for ID. He makes a beeline to the bar, waving at Clark and finding an empty stool.

Clark finishes pouring another round of shots for a pair of bears on the other side of the bar, and then makes his way over. “Dick!” he hisses. “How did you get in?”

“I’m hot?” he says with his most charming smile. Clark huffs, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Before Dick knows it, he has a red drink in front of him, with a cherry on top. He takes a sip.

It’s a Shirley Temple.

Clark shoots him a cheeky smile and then moves on to the next customer. Dick watches Clark mixing and pouring drinks, smiling and flirting with various customers. He notices that a lot of the men at the bar are watching Clark, seemingly enraptured. Dick wants to snap at them that Clark isn’t a piece of meat. But he also can’t quite blame them for staring – Clark’s shirt is tucked into the back pocket of his jeans again, revealing what seems like miles and miles of flawless skin and lean, sculpted muscles.

Quite a few guys slip tips into the pockets of Clark’s jeans – front and back. A few hands linger far too long. Dick knows Clark could break their fingers without even trying, but of course he doesn’t. He just keeps mixing and pouring, pouring and mixing. And smiling, always smiling. It isn’t his sunshine smile – not that beaming smile that warms everyone around him. It’s a practiced smile. Except for when his eyes meet Dick’s, and then it’s a bit sardonic.

“What can I do?” Dick imagines Clark saying with a shrug.

Dick ignores the men that hit on him, turning down offers to buy him drinks and sipping at his Shirley Temple. He just watches Clark, and watches other people watch Clark. One older guy (salt-and-pepper hair, expensive clothes) beckons for Clark to lean over, and then whispers something in Clark’s ear. Clark blushes to the roots of his hair, shaking his head and playing it off with a laugh. Dick can only imagine what the guy said.

The young-ish guy next to him pays his tab and leaves, and a few minutes later, another guy sits down. “Nice place,” he says. The voice is far too familiar.

“Bruce!” Dick hisses, looking around. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve heard great things about this bar, Dickie,” and it’s Brucie Wayne who says it, that vacuous look on his face that still creeps Dick out, no matter how many times he’s seen it – at galas and charity balls and now, apparently, at gay bars.

Dick catches Clark’s gaze, and he sees the moment that Clark realizes that Bruce is there. He does a double take, and then walks over. It seems like the entire bar is staring at them.

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark says with a nervous smile. “What can I get you?”

“Your most expensive cognac,” Bruce all but purrs. Clark nods and turns to grab a bottle from the top shelf. Dick elbows Bruce until he pulls his eyes off Clark’s bare back and ass.

“What are you doing here?” Dick hisses again.

“I can’t visit my son?” Bruce says loudly, with a pout. He sways as if he is already drunk, but Dick is too familiar with the act to be fooled. “My own son doesn't want me here!”

Clark turns back around with a glass and a bottle. Bruce says he’ll just take the bottle to go, complaining (loudly) that he supposes he'll just leave if his Dickie doesn't want him there, lamenting that his son refuses to be his wingman. Dick sees Bruce brush his fingers against Clark’s as he pulls the bottle from his hand.

“That’ll be $2,200, Mr. Wayne,” Clark tells him, that practiced smile back on his lips. Bruce reaches into his pocket and then puts twenty-two hundred-dollar bills on the bar, then eight more. “Keep the change!” he says with a careless wave, taking the bottle with him as he leaves the bar.

Clark picks up the cash with shaking fingers. He opens his mouth, perhaps to call Bruce back and object, but Dick shakes his head.

“Keep it,” he whispers under his breath, knowing Clark will hear. Clark looks up at him with wide eyes, and then his lips curl up into a smile of disbelief. “How much longer is your shift, roomie?” Dick asks, projecting his own voice.

“Another three hours,” Clark replies, looking at the clock above the bar.

“Could I get anything stronger?” Dick asks, shaking his empty glass.

Clark makes him another Shirley Temple ("Two cherries this time!"), and then turns to help the next customer that waves him over. Dick hears two guys at the bar whispering about Bruce being a rich airhead, and wonders how much of this will make the gossip rags the next day.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Clark is already gone for his shift at the university library by the time Dick wakes up. Dick grabs brunch in the dining hall with a few classmates.

“Dick!” a familiar voice calls, and Dick turns to see Babs walking over to his table with her tray. She introduces herself to his classmates, and they all spend brunch gossiping about the parties held that weekend – everyone who hooked up, who made a move but got rejected, who had to go to Gotham Medical to get their stomach pumped after they drank too much. Dick enjoys the sheer (strange) ordinariness of the discussion.

Slowly but surely, the group disbands, and Dick leaves to head back to his dorm. Babs walks alongside him, and they chat about her dad (“doing good”) and Bruce (“same old, same old”) and Jason (“still a little twerp”) until they get back to his room. After Dick closes and locks the door, Babs holds up a finger to silence him, and pulls out a detector to carefully sweep for bugs. Dick should probably get back into the habit of regularly checking for surveillance himself, but almost all of his sensitive conversations in his dorm room are with Clark, who is basically his own walking surveillance detector.

Babs nods in satisfaction once she’s confirmed that the room is clean, and then pulls out her cell phone. “Interesting article,” she says, showing him an article in the society page of the Gotham Gazette titled “Bruce Wayne and Son: On the Outs?” It’s a not-particularly clever play on words, as the article “reports” that one “Bruce Wayne, 31, Prince of Gotham and infamous seducer of both women and men” was already drunk when he met his 18-year-old adopted son (“Dick Grayson, 18, Gotham’s First Son”) at a gay college bar, bought an expensive bottle of cognac in cash, immediately got into an argument with said son, generously tipped the bartender, and then left alone.

Under the headline, there’s a picture of Dick glaring and elbowing Bruce in the side as Bruce ogles Clark’s ass. (It's a really good picture of Clark's quite fantastic backside.) The article identifies the bartender as “Clark Kent, 18, freshman at Gotham University", but doesn’t mention that Clark is Dick’s roommate. Instead, it speculates that both Bruce and Dick were eyeing up the “gorgeous, young bartender” and got into an argument over who would get to take him home. There’s a quote from one “Edgar Cottingham IV, 22, Gotham native,” who says that he saw Clark leaving the bar with Dick after Bruce left.

“Well?” Babs prompts, when Dick finishes skimming the article and looks up. “Is something going on at Woody’s? I didn’t know you and Bruce were working together again.”

“We’re not,” Dick responds. “Clark’s my roommate. He came to the Manor for Thanksgiving, and Bruce wasn’t able to take his eyes off him.” He doesn’t tell Babs about the incident with Deadshot, because he’s not sure he can tell her the story without revealing Clark’s abilities – and they aren’t his secret to share. “I went to the bar last night to keep Clark company during his shift, Bruce came in and did his whole Brucie routine, I tried to ask him what he was doing, and he left.”

“Oh, Bruce wasn’t able to keep his eyes off him?” Babs says, raising an eyebrow. She glances down at her phone, zooming in on the photo of Dick elbowing Bruce – and then zooming in on Clark’s ass. “I mean, you could bounce a quarter off that thing, so I guess I can’t blame him. Just Bruce?”

“Jason too,” Dick laughs. “You should have seen the kid. There were literally stars in his eyes.”

“What about you?” Babs asks. Dick blinks. “Mr. Edgar Cottingham the Fourth says you sat at the bar for hours before you left together.”

Dick shrugs. “I’m not going to lie – Clark is gorgeous, and a genuinely good guy. But I don’t get the sense that he’s the casual relationship type, and I’m not looking for anything serious. So I’ve decided to officially friend-zone myself.”

Babs doesn’t seem convinced, raising her eyebrow again, but she doesn’t press. “When can I meet this mysterious roommate?” she asks.

Dick shrugs: “I don’t know, he’s pretty busy between classes and work. I barely see him during the week. If you want to meet him, I can ask him later if he has any free time this week?”

“Sure,” Babs says. “Just let me know.”

They chat for a while, switching between subjects seamlessly: classes, mutual friends (in and out of masks), and all things Bat. It’s Babs’s senior year, and she’s been pretty busy, so it’s nice to catch up with her. He forgets sometimes how well she knows him. When he mentions dinner at the Manor, Babs stops and gives him a look.

“You’re going back to the Manor two weekends in a row?” she asks. “You and Bruce getting along any better?”

“Not really,” he replies. “We still argue all the time. But it’s good to see Alfred, and the kid maybe isn’t so bad, either.”

Babs laughs at him, reminds him to text her later to make plans to hang out that week, and then leaves. Dick spends the next few hours on classwork, until Clark gets back from work.

“Was someone here?” Clark asks, squinting and looking around the room. “No bugs.”

“Ah, my friend Babs stopped by for a little while,” Dick answers. “How’d you know?” Clark shrugs, explaining that he smelled her perfume. Dick laughs a bit in amazement, shaking his head. He closes his books, asking if Clark is ready to go.

“Sure,” Clark replies, dropping his backpack on his desk. He pulls his baggy t-shirt over his head and off without shame (he has absolutely no reason to be ashamed), and puts on the button down shirt he wore for dinner at the Manor the week before.

Dick’s phone chimes – Alfred is waiting outside.

“Master Dick, Master Clark,” he greets, opening the back door of the limo and gesturing for them to get in. Before Clark gets in, he quietly thanks Alfred for the food, giving back the empty cooler bags.

The ride passes quickly, as they chat about their days. Clark says that he’s free to meet Babs on Wednesday night, and he seems happy that Dick wants to introduce them. Dick has told him some awesome stories about Batgirl.

“Déjà vu,” Clark says with a smile as Alfred stops the limo in front of the Manor. The front door opens.

“Clark,” Jason calls, skidding to a stop in front of them. “You came!”

“I promised,” Clark replies, reaching out hesitantly to tousle Jason’s hair fondly. Jason leans into it, before grabbing Clark’s arm and pulling him into the Manor.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Dick mutters to himself, following behind.

“Yes,” Jason tells him with a bratty smile.

Bruce is already waiting in the small dining room when they get there. It looks good as new - the windows have been replaced, the bullet hole in the wall fixed. Clark greets Bruce shyly: “Thank you again for inviting me, Mr. Wayne. And, um, thank you so much for the tip you left last night. You really didn’t have to. That was so generous.”

“Think nothing of it,” Bruce replies, a smile playing over his lips as he gazes into Clark’s eyes. Jason thankfully interrupts them, pulling Clark over to look out the new floor to ceiling windows at the impressive grounds while Alfred brings the food out. Dick follows them over to the windows, examining them carefully.

“Bulletproof,” Bruce tells him before he can ask. “New design from Lucius. I had all of the windows replaced this week.”

They sit for dinner, and Alfred agrees to join them for the meal only after Clark insists. He’s made a huge roast, with what seems like a dozen side dishes. Dick has a feeling those two cooler bags are going to be coming back with them to the dorm full of food. He smiles at Alfred, thankful for his thoughtfulness.

Jason asks Clark about his day, and Clark tells a story about a kid who was hanging around the library. “A few other students were being nasty to him, so I let him study with me behind the circulation desk. He couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12,” Clark says. “Sharp as a tack. He said he was taking a few classes at the university.”

There are those stars again. Clark blushes lightly when he sees how Jason is looking at him (somehow missing how Bruce is looking at him, or he’d be blushing to the roots of his hair), changing the subject by asking Jason about the books he was currently reading. It was a sneaky move – if you encouraged him and had the patience to listen, Jason could ramble excitedly for what seemed like hours about whatever he was reading.

After dinner, Bruce invites Clark down to the Cave to test some of his abilities. Clark accepts with a thankful smile.

“No spectators,” Bruce says, when Dick and Jason try to follow them down to the Cave. Clark stands there, looking between them and seeming a bit uncertain, before softly saying that it’s alright if Dick and Jason want to observe.

“It doesn’t bother me, really,” Clark says, looking earnestly at Bruce. “I trust them to keep my secrets.”

Bruce takes one look at those big blue eyes and folds like a wet paper towel. Dick and Jason share an amazed look before they follow Bruce and Clark down to the Cave. Dick idly wonders if maybe Clark’s puppy dog eyes are his most powerful ability.

Chapter Text

Bruce leads Clark to the training room in the Cave, and Dick and Jason follow along. The first thing Bruce does is give Clark sweatpants and a t-shirt. Clark blinks, looking down at the clothes curiously. “Thanks?” he says.

“So you don’t ruin your clothes,” Bruce explains, nodding to the small bathroom adjacent to the training room. But in a blur and a blink, Clark is suddenly changed into the sweatpants and t-shirt.

“Thanks,” he beams.

Dick smirks as Bruce blinks – the most surprise he’ll allow himself to express. Bruce walks over to the weight rack, and Clark follows. “Pick it up,” Bruce instructs, pointing at a particular barbell. Clark tilts his head curiously, but bends down and lifts it with one hand – the same way Dick might pick up a piece of paper from the ground. “Hnn. That’s five hundred pounds,” Bruce says. “But we already know you can easily lift a few tons. Etavitca. Elboud.”

“It’s… heavier?” Clark asks curiously, but doesn’t otherwise react.

“One thousand pounds, now. I asked a friend for some magical assistance. She enchanted the barbell to double in weight, but remain the same size, when I speak a specific trigger word,” Bruce explains.

“That’s neat,” Clark beams. “I wondered how you would fit anything heavy enough in the Cave.”

“Elboud,” Bruce says again. “That’s two thousand pounds – one ton.” Clark barely twitches. Bruce repeats the trigger word again, and again, and again. Clark still doesn’t react. “That’s eight tons,” Bruce says, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure it’s working?” Jason asks dubiously. Dick goes to elbow him to shut up, but he just dodges and scowls.

Clark shrugs, still holding the barbell as if it is nothing. “I lifted the tractor on the farm all the time. It was probably about the same, and it never gave me any trouble.”

Bruce repeats the trigger word a few more times, then pauses. “That’s 128 tons – about the weight of a small locomotive.”

“Are you suuuure that it’s working?” Jason asks again, clearly skeptical.

“I can feel that it is getting heavier,” Clark assures them. “I think it’s the heaviest thing I’ve ever held.”

“You aren’t even straining,” Dick comments. Clark shrugs, clearly a bit bashful to be showing the extent of his strength.

“If it’s really that heavy, shouldn’t he be too heavy for the floor to hold him?” Jason asks curiously.

“Um… about that,” Clark says with a nervous laugh. He takes a step backward, and Dick can clearly see the impression of Clark’s feet in the floor of the training room where he had been standing, maybe half an inch deep. “I started to float once I realized I was putting too much pressure on the floor.”

They continue that way for a while, with Bruce saying the trigger word and Clark continuing to hold the barbell without any difficulty. Eventually, Bruce pauses. “That’s 131,072 tons. How do you feel?”

Clark is at least using both hands to hold the barbell now, but he still doesn’t appear to be straining. “It’s definitely the heaviest thing I’ve ever held, and I’m having a little trouble concentrating to keep my float so I don’t damage the floor.”

“Lecnac,” Bruce replies. He tells Clark to put the barbell down, noting that he has one more test in mind before Batman leaves for patrol. Bruce tosses Clark a dark rock of some sort, maybe half the size of his palm. Dick wonders what it is. “Squeeze as hard as you can.”

Dick watches curiously as Clark’s hand closes over the rock and squeezes. Clark’s hand closes as if he wasn’t holding anything at all – the rock must have crumbled under the pressure. When Clark opens his hand, he’s holding a pile of dust. Bruce walks over to Clark, holding out a garbage can. He grabs Clark’s hand, tipping it over slightly so the dust slides off Clark’s hand gradually. Then the dust is gone, and there’s a clear, shiny stone, maybe the diameter of a dime, left in Clark’s hand.

“What’s that?” Jason asks curiously, as he and Dick walk over to get a closer look.

Bruce smiles smugly. “That was graphite,” he says, gesturing to the garbage can. “This,” he continues, plucking the stone from Clark’s hand, “is a diamond. Looks to be maybe five carats.”

“W-what?” Clark says, looking down at the stone in Bruce’s hand with wide-eyed shock.

“I’ll have to get it appraised,” Bruce says, his tone mild. He holds the diamond up, and it glitters brilliantly under the lights in the training room. Clark still looks dumbfounded.

“Wow,” Jason exclaims, reaching for it. Bruce hands it to him, and Jason holds it up to the light, admiring it. Dick gives him a minute, then plucks the diamond from Jason’s grasp, holding the kid off with the other arm as he takes his turn to examine it. Dick doesn’t know anything about diamonds, but it is very shiny.

Bruce holds his hand out, and Dick gives it back. “I’ll bring it to my jeweler tomorrow, and you’ll have the money in your account by Tuesday, Clark.”

“W-what?!” Clark asks. “What money?”

“For the diamond,” Bruce says nonchalantly. “Of course, if you want the diamond instead, you’re welcome to it, but I thought you’d prefer the money.” Clark looks between Bruce’s face and the diamond in Bruce’s hand, as if wondering if this is some sort of trick. Dick sees Bruce’s lips twitch into a soft smile at Clark’s disbelieving look. “It’s just any other Monday if Brucie Wayne goes to his jeweler with a diamond of unknown provenance,” he says, his tone gentle. “I’ll get it appraised tomorrow, and then I’ll pay you its value.”

Clark looks lost. “Mr. Wayne, I don’t know what to say…”

“Say you’ll sell me the diamond,” Bruce replies, still smiling. It is a bit unnerving.

“But it was your graphite,” Clark says quietly, looking down at his hand, where some remaining dust sticks to his skin.

“Pay me $20 for the graphite block, and then say you’ll sell me the diamond,” Bruce counters quickly.

“O-okay,” Clark agrees, looking overwhelmed, those big blue eyes shining at Bruce with gratitude and more than a dose a bit of hero worship. Bruce stares back, seemingly enraptured.

Dick steps between them. “That’s amazing, Clark,” he says. “Now, I think it’s about time for Batman to go on patrol. Why don’t you want that dust off, and we’ll go upstairs and see if Alfred made any dessert?” Clark nods his agreement. A blink and a blur, and he’s standing there in his jeans and button-up again, the sweatpants and t-shirt folded neatly in his arms.

“Keep them,” Bruce tells him, when Clark goes to give the clothes back. “They look better on you.”

Clark blushes, stuttering out another thank you, and then follows Jason as he pulls him away from Bruce and up the stairs. Dick tells them to go on ahead when Clark looks back curiously, saying he needs to speak with Bruce privately for a minute. He stands there silently, watching Bruce watch Clark walk away, until Clark and Jason are out of sight.

“That wasn’t subtle,” Dick says wryly, glancing pointedly at the diamond still in Bruce’s hand.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Bruce replies dryly.

“And what was it meant to be?” Dick asks, raising an eyebrow.

“More than enough for Clark to pay off his debts,” Bruce tells him. “Now you better go upstairs before Jason eats all of Alfred’s cookies.”

Dick goes, leaving Bruce to Batman.

Chapter Text

Clark and Jason are deep in conversation and have already eaten half a plate of Alfred’s double chocolate chip cookies by the time Dick gets upstairs. Dick sits down to join them, grabbing two cookies of his own. Jason shoots him a dirty look but otherwise ignores him, asking Clark to continue his story.

Clark smiles shyly. “Jason and I were just talking about when I realized that I was stronger than the average person. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t, honestly. My Ma always used to tell me this story. She said that when I was about two or so, a cat had her kittens in our barn, under the tractor, and I wanted to see them. When I tried to crawl under the tractor, she pulled me out and scolded me, saying I would get my clothes all dusty. She always told me that I was stubborn at two, and creative with whatever rules they gave me. Instead of crawling under the tractor, I lifted it off the ground so I could see the kittens. My Ma said I scared her half to death – she was afraid I was going to drop it and hurt myself.” He laughs, a little wryly. “I wasn't as durable when I was little. I remember getting the normal bumps and bruises growing up, but they became less and less frequent as I got older. It was gradual enough that I didn’t really notice it too much.”

“Were you surprised, when you got hit by that car and nothing happened?” Jason asks.

Clark smiles, but it isn’t his sunshine grin – Dick thinks he looks sad. “I was terrified. There I was, just standing on the bridge, and the next thing I know, I’m in the water. Nothing like that had ever happened before. I knew I was harder to hurt than the average person. I went through a really clumsy stage at 12 or 13, when I hit a growth spurt, but by then I didn’t bruise anymore. I dropped a hammer on my foot once, and it dented the hammer. Didn’t hurt me at all. But I had no idea that I would walk away from that car accident without a scratch – in the split second before that car hit me, I thought I was going to die.”

Clark trails off, blushing as he realizes that he said perhaps more than he meant to say. Dick puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, offering him a warm smile and another cookie. “Thanks,” Clark says. “For the cookie, and for listening. After Ma died… I didn’t have anyone left to talk to.”

“I like your stories,” Jason tells him, as earnest as the kid gets. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I trust you,” Clark responds, relaxing and smiling again. Jason smiles back. He opens his mouth, but closes it before he says anything. Clark smiles encouragingly: “You can ask. I know it’s a lot.”

“How did you get here?” Jason blurts. “Not the Manor. I mean, you know, Earth?”

“I was really young, and I don’t know the whole story, but I came in a spaceship. It was pretty small, actually – just big enough to hold a baby. There was a meteor shower in Smallville, and my parents found me in the back field when they were checking on the crops,” Clark tells them. “I don’t remember it, but that’s what my Ma told me, anyway.”

“And took you in, just like that?” Jason asks.

Clark laughs. “Yeah. I know, right? They found a baby in a spaceship in a burnt field of corn, and they adopted me and called me their son. It could’ve been the opening to a horror film. But I was so, so lucky they were the ones who found me.”

“What happened to the spaceship?” Dick asks curiously. “That must’ve been hard to hide.”

“It was small. My Pa loaded it in the back of the pickup, and then they hid it in the storm cellar, under a tarp.” A pause, and then they all laugh at the ridiculousness of it – a spaceship in a storm cellar.

“Nobody ever found it?” Dick asks, still chuckling.

“No,” Clark replies, shaking his head.

“Can I see it?” Jason asks, clearly excited at the thought.

Clark’s smile slips: “I had to move it when the bank took the farm.”

“Where?” Jason asks. “Is it in Gotham?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I didn’t have anywhere to hide it. I brought it to the Arctic, and buried it deep under snow and ice.” Clark must see the disappointed look on Jason’s face. “It’s not that impressive, really. It was damaged in the landing – I was never able to turn it on.”

“Bruce is really good at figuring things out,” Jason tells him. “He tinkers with all sorts of stuff in the Cave. Maybe he could help you?” Clark blushes, stuffing another cookie in his mouth and chewing. The silence is a bit awkward. “You don’t have to or nothin',” Jason mutters.

“It was a good suggestion, Jay. I just – Mr. Wayne is helping me so much,” Clark says quietly. “He’s already spending so much time helping me with my abilities. I know he must be really busy; I couldn’t ask for even more of his time.”

Dick snorts. “Are you kidding? Bruce would love to play with your spaceship.” He pauses, realizing that sounds vaguely dirty. Clark blushes again, and Jason glares at him. “Sorry – I mean, I’m sure it wouldn’t be imposing. And there’s nowhere safer than the Cave for keeping a secret.”

Clark bites his lip, obviously still hesitant. He says he’ll think about it. Dick nods, changing the subject before Jason can push. The three of them spend a while longer hanging out, chatting and eating cookies. Alfred brings out a second plate at some point, regular chocolate chip this time with three mugs of milk.

“These are amazing, Alfred,” Clark gushes, after eating the first one. “I mean, the other ones were really good too, but these taste almost like my Ma used to make.”

“I will take that as the highest compliment, Master Clark,” Alfred responds with a pleased smile.

“It is,” Clark reassures him. “My Ma was the best baker in Smallville. She used to make all sorts of pies and cupcakes and cookies to sell at the farmer’s market. A few cafes in Grandville had started placing orders, before…” he trails off, his eyes going glassy with unshed tears.

Alfred puts a comforting hand on Clark’s shoulder: “There is no shame in missing her, Master Clark. She must have been a wonderful woman, to raise such a wonderful son.” Clark manages a weak smile, and Dick sees him lean into Alfred’s touch. Dick notices that Jason shifts awkwardly in his seat, but both of them stay quiet. They are both all too familiar with the pain of losing parents. Alfred has too often been a comfort to a young orphan, and Dick figures that Jason doesn’t begrudge Clark that comfort any more than Dick does.

Chapter Text

After a minute or two, Clark pulls away from Alfred’s comforting touch, shooting Dick and Jason a furtive look. He’s clearly embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” Dick says, trying to be reassuring. “Right after my parents died, when I first came to live with Bruce, Alfred was a life-saver. I still miss them all the time.”

“Me too,” Jason mutters so quietly Dick can barely hear him, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Alfred takes a step towards Jason, likely to comfort him – but Clark beats him to it. In a blur, he’s standing next to Jason, pulling him up and into a hug. Jason shudders, burying his face in Clark’s shoulder and leaning into his touch. Dick shoots a startled look to Alfred, who looks equally surprised.

Dick tried to pull Jason into a hug once, and Jason nearly bit his head off.

“None of us have to be alone anymore, Jay,” Dick hears Clark whisper comfortingly, running his hand gently through Jason’s hair. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

Jason nods his head, his face still buried in Clark’s shoulder. “Don’t leave,” Dick hears Jason whisper, sees him hold Clark tighter. “It’s better when you’re here.”

“It’s better when you’re here too,” Clark tells him. “You know you can email me any time, and I’ll try to answer as quickly as I can.”

“But why can’t you just stay here? I know Bruce would let you, if you asked him,” Jason says, stepping back from their hug and scowling.

Clark blushes, seemingly speechless.

“Master Jason – you know that Master Dick and Master Clark must return to university. Education is important,” Alfred says, stepping closer to the pair. Jason just huffs, scowling harder.

“Clark can run between the University and the Manor in seconds. He could stay here, if he wanted,” Jason says, glaring at all three of them before turning to leave.

“That would be risky,” Dick tells him, walking in front of him and blocking the door before Jason can run out. They lock eyes, and Jason is smart. Realization passes over his face; he hides it with another scowl. But Dick knows that Jason knows that Dick isn’t just talking about Clark’s secret being found out if he gets from one place to another too quickly, too often.

There would be other kinds of risk too, if Clark lived in the Manor full-time.

Jason turns around again, facing Clark again. He punches Clark’s shoulder, a bit too hard to be completely friendly. Clark rolls with it, moving so fast that Dick can hardly see it. “Careful,” Clark says. He looks down at Jason’s hand, squinting, and then gives a sigh of relief. “You’re okay this time, but you can hurt yourself like that.”

“I don’t care,” Jason says. “You need to come visit again next weekend. We can have another Gray Ghost marathon, and make pancakes together, and hang out in the library. I spent all week reading Gray Ghost comics, and I don’t have anyone to talk to.” He pauses. “Dick can come too, if he has to.”

That breaks the tension, and they all laugh. (Well, Alfred gives a little chuckle.)

“I’m glad to know I’m growing on you, little wing,” Dick says with a smile. Jason looks at him suspiciously, probably because of the new nickname. Maybe Dick’s tone was a bit too fond, but the little twerp is growing on him.

“Perhaps we could make Sunday dinner a weekly family occasion, sirs?” Alfred offers with a small smile, looking fondly at all three of them. Clark looks at Dick hesitantly; Dick told him that he and Bruce don’t always get along, and Dick knows that Clark is afraid of over-stepping.

“Fine,” Dick sighs. “Next Sunday, then.”

“Very good, Master Dick,” Alfred responds.

Dick just nods and grabs another cookie. His phone pings – it’s a text from Babs, asking when he and Clark are available to meet. After confirming with Clark that Wednesday still works, Dick texts her back. Before he puts his phone back in his pocket, Dick notices the time.

“We should probably head out,” he says to Clark. “I know you have an early class tomorrow.”

Alfred agrees, telling them that he’ll pull the limo around before he leaves the room. Jason just scowls again. Clark pulls him into another hug, reassuring him that they will be back next Sunday for dinner (“And I mean it when I say you can email me whenever, Jay”).

Dick looks on, standing there a little awkwardly. If he’s honest with himself, he feels a little replaced. Jason is replacing him as Bruce’s ward and (one day soon) as Batman’s Robin. When Jason first moved in, Dick thought maybe he could take on a friendly big brother role, but they could never seem to get along. And now Clark seems to be replacing him as Jason’s big brother figure.

Clark looks up and meets Dick’s eyes over Jason’s shoulder. He must read something in Dick’s expression, because a blur and then all three of them are hugging, Jason smooshed in the middle.

“Hey!” Jason yells, struggling a bit to get out. Clark lets him go and steps back immediately, carefully to avoid Jason’s waving arms. Dick just hugs him harder. “Dick!” Dick laughs and lets him go, ruffling his hair and then dancing out of the way before Jason can punch him in the balls (the kid fights dirty).

Clark’s head tilts. “Alfred’s waiting out front,” he says. “We should probably head out.” Jason walks them to the door, watching as they get into the limo. The ride back to the dorms is spent in comfortable silence, Dick dozing a little bit. Clark shakes him gently when the limo pulls to a stop.

Alfred pops the trunk, pulling out the same two rolling cooler bags as last Sunday, loaded down with more food. He hands them directly to Clark this time. Clark looks startled, then pleased. Dick gives Alfred a quick hug, and then steps back and pushes Clark forward. Clark lets himself be pushed, giving Alfred a tentative hug. Alfred hugs him back, tight.

“I will pick you up on Sunday,” Alfred tells them before he gets into the limo and drives away.

Dick and Clark walk back to their room, Clark rolling both cooler bags behind him. “Hey, it’s Wayne’s son and his boy toy,” Steve Lombard, a football player who lives on their floor, calls as they walk past the common area on their floor. “Nice ass!” he whistles, holding up a newspaper with the photograph from the bar.

Clark blushes, but doesn’t otherwise react. In fact, he doesn’t so much as glance at Lombard, and he keeps walking. Dick thinks about stopping and teaching the jock a lesson, but he supposes if Clark can be the bigger person (metaphorically, Lombard is taller and wider than Bruce), so can he. He keeps pace with Clark, but being the bigger person doesn’t stop him from glaring at the guy.

Dick closes and locks the door behind him when they get to the room. He taps his ear, and Clark understands immediately – squinting and looking around for any bugs. He tilts his head curiously when he looks in his own backpack.

“Huh,” he says, unzipping it and pulling out the latest phone from WayneTech. Dick isn’t sure it’s even on the market yet. There’s a sticky note, but Dick can’t see what it says. Clark blushes lightly as he reads the note; then he lights it on fire with his eyes, blows on his hand to cool the glowing embers, and drops the leftover dust in the garbage by Dick’s desk.

“What’s that about?” Dick asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mr. Wayne says that Jason complained that I don’t answer his emails quickly enough, and texting is more secure than email,” Clark says, turning away to start loading the food into their refrigerator. His ears are bright red.

Dick doesn’t have to be the world’s greatest detective to know that the note said more than that.

“Clark…” he trails off, knowing he should probably warn his friend about Bruce, but not certain how to start. “About Bruce…” he trails off again, words failing him.

“I saw the article. I know Mr. Wayne has to act a… certain way, in public,” Clark tells him, still busying himself with arranging the food. There’s an awkward silence. Dick knows how quickly Clark can move when he wants to; he’s unsure whether to push. Then Clark continues: “I know some people are making assumptions, about what I am, to Mr. Wayne, and to you.” He closes the refrigerator door, then turns abruptly to face Dick.

Dick smiles weakly, still unsure what to say. Another awkward silence falls between them.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Clark says, looking down at the phone Bruce sent him.

“I never said…” Dick starts.

“I know Mr. Wayne is attracted to me,” Clark cuts him off, looking up to lock eyes with him. He’s blushing, but he pushes forward anyway. “I always know when someone is attracted to me.” Here, he looks meaningfully at Dick. “I don’t think you fully understand what I mean when I say my senses are enhanced. Attraction – if you can hear well enough, see well enough, smell well enough – you can’t miss it.”

Dick is speechless. And maybe a bit embarrassed.

“But I know it doesn’t mean anything more,” Clark tells him, looking back down at the phone. “Mr. Wayne is a hero, and I’m… not. And maybe at one point I would have been too proud to take his charity, but I’m not now. I can’t afford to be proud. I just – I really appreciate the phone, the money, the diamond, Alfred’s food, the clothes, just… everything. I don’t want to take advantage of his generosity – or yours, but I can’t…” Clark trails off, sighing. When Dick doesn't say anything in response, Clark blurs into the pair of sweatpants that Bruce gave him, and then floats up to the top bunk, turning away from Dick to face the wall.

Dick changes into his pajamas, turns off the light, and gets into bed. He stares up at bottom of Clark’s mattress, but sleep doesn’t come for a while.

Chapter Text

Dick is not sure when exactly when he falls asleep, but it is so late it might as well be morning. In fact, he feels like he’s just fallen asleep when his alarm goes off. Dick barely remembers hitting snooze, but when he finally rolls out of bed, he has only thirty minutes until his first class and Clark is already gone from the room. Dick stomps to the hall bathroom, tired and cranky from not near enough sleep. He ignores the other guys in the bathroom as he quickly brushes his teeth and takes a shower. He has just enough time to get dressed and stick a granola bar in his mouth before leaves for class.

His hair is still wet on the walk over to his lecture hall.

He barely pays attention to the lecture. When he’s not trying to keep himself from falling asleep, he’s pushing away thoughts of last night’s conversation with Clark. He takes a few half-hearted notes on his laptop, before opening his email. At the top of his inbox, Dick sees an email from Clark. The subject line is blank. He resists the urge to open it; he’s sitting in the middle of the lecture hall, and he can’t trust that one of his classmates won’t try to read over his shoulder.

The rest of class drags on, every minute feelings like an hour. Dick tries to pay attention, but it's like the professors words go in one ear and out the other. He figures he’ll have to ask one of his classmates for notes later. The moment the professor dismisses them, he’s out the door, walking quickly back to the dorm. As soon as the door is closed and locked behind him, he pulls up his email on his phone, immediately clicking on the one from Clark.

It’s short: “I’m sorry. Can we talk later? I’m done at the library at 10PM.” And underneath is the number for Clark’s new phone. Dick adds him to his contacts, immediately texting that he’s sorry too, and he agrees they should talk. Dick knows Clark is in class, so he’s not upset when Clark doesn’t respond right away.

He relaxes, immediately feeling lighter; and hungry, now that the knot in his stomach is gone. He heads to the dining hall for lunch, and is actually able to focus during his afternoon classes. When Dick gets back to the room later, he sees that Clark has read his text, but still hasn’t responded. He sits down to do some reading for the next day’s classes, but his exhaustion catches up to him.

Dick wakes up when Clark opens the door, lifting his head from the desk and blinking blearily. Clark does a quick check for bugs, and then drops his backpack by the door and sits in his desk chair, facing Dick. Their eyes meet for a second, and then they look away, an awkward silence filling the room.

Clark breaks the silence: “I got your text. Sorry I didn’t answer. I thought it would be better to talk face-to-face.” He sighs, hunching his shoulders as he stares somewhere over Dick’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you last night, and I want you to know that I do try to respect everyone’s privacy. I do my best to control my senses as much as possible, but sometimes I just can’t turn them off.”

Clark pauses a second, but before Dick can reassure him (Dick is used to living with someone who knows a lot more than they let on, and at least Clark tries to respect his privacy), he continues again: “And I want you to know, it doesn’t mean anything that Mr. Wayne is attracted to me. I don’t intend to seduce him or anything, and I promise to do better to try not to take advantage of his kindness, or yours.”

Dick blinks. “You… don’t intend to seduce Bruce?”

Clark nods, and then he’s looking at Dick earnestly with those big blue eyes. “Y’all have been kinder to me than I deserve. I wouldn’t ruin that by trying to sleep with Mr. Wayne, not matter how… Well, I just wouldn’t.”

Dick doesn’t think about what Clark was going to say before he cut himself off. (He doesn’t.) Instead, he thinks about the fact that, for all Clark’s senses, he somehow got this all backwards. “I never thought you were trying to… seduce Bruce,” Dick clarifies.

“You didn’t?” Clark asks, sounding surprised.

“No, and I wasn’t trying to warn you off him last night. I don’t think you’re taking advantage of him, or any of us. And you deserve all the kindness in the world,” Dick reassures him.

Clark smiles hesitantly. “But you were mad after Lombard brought up that article, and then you wanted to talk about Mr. Wayne?”

Dick pauses, carefully thinking about what he’s going to say. “I was mad at Lombard for being a jerk, not at you. And – I was going to warn you about Bruce, because I know he can be too much sometimes, and I didn’t want him to scare you or make you feel uncomfortable.”

Another pause.

“You did see me catch that bullet, right? And lift over 100,000 tons?” Clark asks in a teasing tone. Dick nods. “And you’re still trying to protect me?”

Dick shrugs, responding: “There’s more than one way to be hurt.” Clark stares at him. “What?” Dick asks.

“Nothing,” Clark says, that sunshine grin spreading across his face. “I’m just really glad that of all the roommates I could've gotten, they assigned me to you.”

Dick smiles back, agreeing. He’s about to bring Bruce up again (don’t think he didn’t notice that Clark changed the subject away from Bruce and to his abilities), when Clark’s phone pings. Dick watches as Clark pulls it out of his pocket and reads whatever text he received, looking flabbergasted.

“What?” Dick asks. Clark doesn’t answer, shaking his head in disbelief. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

“That diamond… Mr. Wayne said it appraised at over one hundred th-thousand dollars,” Clark says, blinking down at the screen as if the words might change. “He says he can have the money transferred to my account tomorrow, if I give him the details…” Clark trails off.

It doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

“Take a deep breath, Clark,” Dick tells him, standing up to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Clark exhale is shaky. He responds, his voice faint: “This changes e-everything. I can pay off Ma and Pa’s medical bills, and I should have enough left over to cover the dorms this spring, and maybe even pay for somewhere to live over the summer.” Clark is shaking, so quickly that his features blur in front of Dick's eyes, and Dick can feel the vibrations from his arm on Clark’s shoulder to his bones. When Clark realizes, he goes perfectly – almost eerily – still.

“You’re not mad?” Clark asks, looking up at him with wide eyes as he leans into Dick’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not mad,” he replies, pulling Clark up and into a hug. “Why would I be mad? This is a great thing. Maybe you can even take a couple less shifts and relax a little, huh?”

“I mean – your dad is offering to give me over a hundred thousand dollars. I just – I can’t even – f-for that little rock?” Clark murmurs, his breath hot on Dick’s neck. Dick takes a deep breath, acutely aware of Clark’s senses.

“It’s Bruce’s money, and he can spend it however he wants. He’s spent a lot more on a lot less,” Dick reassures him, then he carefully steps back from their embrace. Clark lets him go, beaming brightly. Dick watches as Clark’s feet start to lift off the floor; he’s literally floating with happiness. Dick can’t help but smile along.

“Oh, I better text him back!” Clark exclaims suddenly, grabbing his phone. “This is – I don’t even…” he trails off, mumbling to himself as his fingers fly over the screen.

Dick shakes his head, still grinning as he sits back at his desk to finish his reading for tomorrow’s classes.

Chapter Text

Tuesday and Wednesday pass in a blur of classes and homework, and despite living in the same room, Dick doesn’t see Clark again until Wednesday night when Clark walks in while Dick is styling his hair to get ready to hang out with Babs. He notices that Clark’s wearing his regular jeans, paired with one of those free Gotham University t-shirts that they seem to hand out to freshmen like candy.

“Hey,” Clark greets him with a smile, toeing off his ratty sneakers at the door. “You look nice.”

Dick accepts the compliment with a smile, trying not to preen, before he turns back to the mirror to finish styling his hair. He chose his outfit for the night carefully; tight blue jeans and a blue sweater that makes his eyes pop. Casual, but not too casual. He’s hot, and he knows it, but it’s still nice to hear.

“Just give me a sec,” Clark says, and in a blur he’s in tight black jeans and a black sweater. The jeans fit him snugly, perhaps a touch too tight across his ass, although they are also a few inches too long, almost dragging on the floor. The sweater is cashmere, a size or two too big. Clark pushes the sleeves up, revealing his toned forearms. Dick is pretty sure the clothes are new to Clark; he thinks Clark would have worn them to dinner at the Manor, if he had them before. He’s also certain they aren’t entirely new; although the materials are great quality, they show some minor signs of wear.

Dick wonders when Clark found time to go shopping at a thrift store, given his busy schedule, but he doesn’t ask. There’s no need to be rude, not when Clark’s obviously very nervous about meeting Babs. Perhaps Dick shouldn’t have talked her up to Clark quite as much as he has, but it’s Babs.

It’s hard to exaggerate how awesome she is.

“Ready,” Clark tells him, grabbing his backpack. Dick notices that Clark’s hair is artfully tousled. He has no idea whether Clark styles his dark curls like that on purpose, or whether just fucked is Clark’s default look, especially after he moves in super speed. Dick pushes the thought away, texting Babs to let her know they’re leaving. He pulls on his coat, gloves, and scarf, then he and Clark start the walk to Babs’ apartment, just off-campus.

When they get outside, Dick pulls up his scarf to protect the bottom half of his face before sticking his glove-clad hands in the pockets of his coat. Clark walks beside him in nothing but his sweater and jeans. “Aren’t you cold?” Dick asks. It won’t be winter for a couple more weeks yet, but it’s December in Gotham: cold and often wet. Clark shrugs, replying that he doesn’t get cold. They fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the short walk.

“Hey Frank,” Dick greets Babs’s regular doorman. Frank waves them in, barely sparing Clark a glance as they walk into the warm lobby and head to the elevator. Dick presses the button for Babs’s floor, then starts pulling off his gloves, scarf, and coat. He notices Clark is frowning slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t he ask have asked for our ID? Maybe called up to check that she was expecting visitors?” Clark asks.

“Babs can take care of herself,” Dick replies with a shrug. Clark nods; the elevator doors open, and he doesn’t say anything further as he follows Dick to Babs’ door. The door after two knocks, Babs welcoming them in with a smile.

“Clark, this is Barbara Gordon,” Dick introduces. “Babs, this is Clark Kent.”

Clark reaches out to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you Ms. Gordon,” he says, before dropping her hand to fiddle around with his backpack. “Thank you for having me.” He pulls out a familiar-looking glass tray that he offers to Babs with a shy smile.

“Thank you, and feel free to call me Babs,” Babs tells him, taking the tray. She peels back the lid to reveal brownies. “My favorite,” she says.

“Alfred told me,” Clark replies, a light blush spreading over his checks. “He sends his regards. And Jason helped bake them.” Dick wonders when Clark baked the brownies. The where is clearly the Manor. (Dick recognizes Alfred’s brownie tray. And what does Clark mean that Jason helped?)

“Homemade brownies? Oh, you’re adorable,” she tells Clark, shooting Dick a look as if asking where Clark came from. (Another planet, but Babs doesn’t know that.)

“Just trying to be polite,” Clark says, his blush deepening. He shoots his own look at Dick, clearly asking for help. Dick has questions, but they can wait – he really does want Babs and Clark to get along.

“Delivery on its way?” he asks Babs with a cheeky smile, pulling her attention from Clark.

“You know me too well,” Babs laughs. “I ordered the pizza when you texted me that you were leaving. It should be here any minute.” She puts the tray of brownies on her island, before offering to get them something to drink. “Water or iced tea for the freshies?” she asks them with a teasing tone.

They take their iced tea to Babs’s living room. Dick joins Babs on the sofa, leaving Clark the loveseat to himself. “Dick tells me you’re from Kansas, Clark,” Babs says. “How are you liking Gotham?”

“I like what I’ve seen,” Clark replies. “The campus is great. I haven’t spent much time in the rest of the city.”

“How about the Manor? Dick said that you joined him for Thanksgiving?” Babs asks. Dick can’t describe Clark’s response as anything but gushing with praise: praise for Bruce, Alfred, Jason, and Dick (not so much the Manor itself).

“They’ve all been very kind to me,” Clark tells her earnestly. “I was a bit nervous, coming to a big city like Gotham from Smallville, but they’ve really made me feel welcome.”

The doorbell rings before Babs can respond. “Hold that thought,” she tells Clark over her shoulder, quickly paying for the pizza and returning with the box. She opens it on the coffee table, and grabs two slices for herself, gesturing for Dick and Clark to dig in.

“I know you and Dick are getting to be besties,” Babs tells Clark in a teasing tone. “But you get along with Jason too? He can be a bit prickly.” Dick can tell that Clark is trying not to get defensive at what could be interpreted as a slight to Jason.

“He’s a good kid, with a good heart,” Clark tells her. “He hasn’t had it easy.” He takes a sharp bite of his pizza, as if to punctuate his statement.

“That’s true,” Dick agrees. “I’m happy you two get along. Sometimes Jason can put people off, whether or not he means to.” Understatement of the year – and Dick knows that description fits more than one resident of the Manor who Clark has wrapped around his little finger.

When Babs asks about Alfred, Dick assures her that he’s doing well, and is just as ridiculously competent as ever. Then Babs turns to Clark, and asks him what he thinks about Bruce. Clark blushes. “Mr. Wayne is very… generous?” he tells her, voice lilting in a questioning tone. Dick cuts in and steers the conversation to another topic. Babs sighs, but lets him.

A while later, Dick leaves Babs and Clark happily chatting about comics to go to the bathroom, around the corner and down the hall. As he’s walking back towards the living room, right before he turns the corner, Dick realizes that the subject of their conversation has changed. He stops, listening in.

“…Bruce’s cover,” Dick hears Babs say.

“N-no,” Clark responds, clearly embarrassed.

“Dick doesn’t like to hear it, because he thinks of Bruce like a parent, but no one attracted to men can deny that Bruce is sex on legs. And that spread was… whew, pure fire. That magazine was everywhere in Gotham for months.”

Clark stammers, and Dick realizes that Babs is telling Clark about Bruce’s “Sexiest Man Alive” spread, and he quickly turns the corner, reclaiming his seat on the sofa.

“What did I miss?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

“Clark and I were just talking about how Bruce was selected as the Sexiest Man Alive last year,” Babs tells him, grinning unabashedly. Clark is blushing to the roots of his hair, silent.

Dick sighs. “She’s teasing you,” he tells Clark. “That means she likes you.” Clark shoots her a startled look, all big blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Babs smiles back at him, agreeing that’s how she shows affection. Then she blinks in the face of Clark’s full sunshine smile, and it’s her turn to stammer lightly as she grabs the empty pizza box and says that she’s going to plate up some brownies.

When she turns the corner and is out of sight (at least, out of Dick’s, Clark lets out a big sigh. “She really likes me?” he whispers to Dick, squinting in the direction of the kitchen.

“Totally,” Dick reassures him. “You’re great.”

“I was really nervous,” Clark admits, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. “I know she’s one of your best friends. And Jason – um, he told me.” Clark looks at Dick meaningfully. Dick resists the urge to curse. Jason told Clark that Babs is Oracle? Clark is obviously more than trustworthy, but that wasn't Jason's secret to share. Before he can respond, Clark changes the subject to the trailer for the new Warrior Angel movie.

Thirty seconds later, Babs comes back into the living room with a full plate of brownies. Dick grabs one. It looks moist and fudgy – and there are even bits of walnut mixed in. Right before he takes a bite, Babs practically moans in pleasure. “Delicious,” she proclaims, taking another bite. “You made these, Clark?”

“My Ma’s old recipe,” Clark tells her proudly. “And Jason really did help a lot, and Alfred was very kind to let me use his kitchen.”

Dick finally takes a bite of his own brownie – and while he is a bit quieter in his appreciation, he has to agree with Babs that it is delicious. (Maybe better than Alfred’s brownies, though he would never say so out loud.) Clark blushes a bit at their compliments, but seems pleased that they like them. They fall into comfortable conversation again, chatting and laughing.

Before Dick knows it, it’s past midnight. Babs yawns, and Dick glances at his phone, realizing the time.

“We better head back to the dorms,” he tells Babs. “Let you get your beauty sleep?”

“You implying something, jerk?” she asks with a teasing smile, stretching as she stands to show them to the door. “Clark – it was very nice to meet you. I’d love to do this again sometime soon.” Clark agrees. Babs gives Dick a quick hug goodbye, and then she turns to Clark and opens her arms, asking if it’s okay if she hugs him too. He nods, stepping forward for a quick embrace. Then they take the elevator to the lobby and walk out the door, waving to Frank as they leave.

Dick considers the night a resounding success. Babs clearly likes Clark, and Clark seems to like her right back. There were a few awkward moments, sure, but he thinks the two of them could be good friends, given enough time.

But before Dick can fully enjoy his success, he has a few questions for Clark…

Chapter Text

Dick waits until they’re back in the room and Clark has completed his now-standard squint to check for surveillance; he doesn’t want to risk anyone overhearing their conversation. “What did Jason tell you about Babs?” Dick asks (most important question first).

Clark shrugs. “Just that she knows, and occasionally helps,” he replies, before blurring into a pair of sweatpants.

“Did he give her codename?” Dick questions.

“No,” Clark answers, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Is something wrong?” Dick sighs, before explaining that Jason really shouldn’t have told Clark anything about Babs. It wasn’t his secret to tell; just like Clark’s secret is his alone to share.

Clark nods, frowning. “I understand. But he didn’t mean any harm; I’m sure he thought it was okay, because I already know about Mr. Wayne, and you,” he says. Dick doesn’t push; he’ll have to think about whether he should discuss the issue with Jason directly, or whether he should tell Bruce and let him handle it.

“When did Jason tell you?” Dick asks. Clark explains that it was while they were baking the brownies. “And when did you bake brownies with Jason?”

Clark shuffles his feet and looks away, avoiding eye contact. “Um… Mr. Wayne picked me up from the bar last night after my shift. I was texting with Jason, and I told him that I was nervous about dinner, and I probably complained a bit too much that I wasn’t sure what to wear, and that I wanted to bring something to thank Babs for hosting me but wasn't sure what, and I guess Jason told Mr. Wayne.”

Dick isn’t sure how he does it, but he refrains from groaning out loud. “Bruce picked you up in the Batmobile again?” Dick asks. It doesn’t make any sense – what if someone sees Clark with Batman? The speculation that Bruce and Dick are fighting over Clark has found some popularity online; Bruce usually wants to keep Batman far away from anyone publicly linked to Bruce Wayne.

Clark shakes his head. “Bruce picked me up. In the Aston Martin?” His voice lilts up at the end, more question than answer. Dick sighs heavily. “I don’t think anyone saw?” Clark tells him, though he doesn't seem confident.

“You’re probably right. If someone had, it would’ve been news this morning," Dick says. He refuses to let himself get sidetracked again: "What happened after Bruce picked you up from the bar?”

“We drove back to the Manor. Before Mr. Wayne left for patrol, he told me that Alfred would help me. Alfred offered to make the brownies, but he let me use his kitchen when I asked,” Clark tells him, rambling a bit. “And when I said I was using my Ma’s recipe, Jason asked if I would teach him, so I let him help.”

Dick wonders if that’s it. Bruce picked Clark up in the Aston Martin, and then Clark chatted with Alfred and baked brownies with Jason? “Why didn’t you tell me that you went to the Manor?” Dick asks, careful to make sure that his tone is light and absent of any hint of accusation.

Clark shrugs, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t get a chance. It was really late last night by the time we were finished with the brownies, and I was worried about waking you up, so Mr. Wayne let me sleep over.” Clark must realize how that sounds, because he hurries to reassure Dick that he slept in the same guest room where he stayed over Thanksgiving. “And then this morning Alfred dropped me off, and I went right to class.”

Dick has a million more questions crowding his brain, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s accusing Clark of anything. He’s really not. He knows how Bruce works, and it would be all too easy for Clark to get swept away. But given Clark’s story, Dick can’t stop himself from asking one more question: “The clothes that you wore tonight – were those Bruce’s?”

Dick thinks back on Clark’s outfit. Both the jeans and sweater were of high quality, and all in black. The jeans were too long on Clark; they would probably fit Bruce just right, given that he was a few inches taller. And the sweater seemed about two sizes too big; though Clark was ripped, he was still much more leanly muscled than Bruce, who was built like a brick shithouse. Dick is so caught up in his own speculations that he almost misses Clark’s nod.

He doesn’t miss Clark’s next words. “Alfred was cleaning out Mr. Wayne’s closet. I know I said I’d try not to take advantage of Mr. Wayne’s generosity, but Alfred offered and I didn’t see the harm if he was going to get rid of them anyway?” Dick reassures Clark that it’s fine. That he looked nice in the outfit, and he was sure Babs appreciated the effort. Clark smiles, and Dick changes the subject to lighter topics, as he gets ready for bed. Eventually, their conversation peters out, and Clark flips out the lights before floating up to the top bunk.

Dick stares up on the bottom of Clark’s mattress, thinking about everything Clark told him. Bruce picked up Clark from the bar, yes, but it seems he let Alfred (and Jason, to a lesser extent) take credit for everything else: Alfred told Clark that Babs’s favorite dessert is brownies; Alfred let Clark use the kitchen (fully stocked with all the ingredients to make brownies, of course); Alfred offered Clark the clothes; and Alfred drove Clark back to campus.

Dick knows that trying to talk to Bruce again isn’t going to do anything, except maybe start another argument.

No, Dick is going to have to talk to Alfred.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week passes quickly. He barely sees Clark: finals are rapidly approaching, and Dick is buried in classes and homework and studying. On Saturday night, Dick takes a break; he wakes up the next morning in a room not his own, cuddled against a warm body. Dick tries to remember the guy’s name, and fails. Rather than stick around for an awkward morning after, he slips away before the guy wakes up. It is early yet, and the campus is almost eerily quiet as he walks back to his own dorm.

Clark is awake when Dick walks in. “Long night?” he asks with a knowing smile.

Dick shrugs. “Frat party,” he explains, throwing himself face first on his bed. “You?”

“Bar was busy,” Clark tells him. “I told Jason that I’d head over early to hang out and make pancakes. You’re welcome to join us?”

“You don’t have to work?” Dick asks, shifting onto his side so he can see Clark’s expression. He looks sheepish, and explains that he asked the library and bar not to schedule him for Sundays anymore. Dick doesn’t press. Clark hasn’t brought up the diamond again; but if Dick knows Bruce, Clark already received the money for it. Dick is just glad that Clark feels secure enough to take a day off.

Clark’s phone pings. Clark pulls it out and types something back. “It’s Jason. I told him to text me when he woke up,” Clark explains. “I know dinner isn’t until 6pm, but I’m going to run over now. I could carry you?”

Dick imagines that would be an experience, but he was up late and it is barely morning, and all he wants to do is go back to sleep. He figures Bruce won’t be up for hours and hours yet, and Jason will appreciate spending more time with Clark (and without Dick).

“Thanks, but I’m going back to sleep,” Dick tells Clark. “I can take the bus over this afternoon.”

Clark laughs, zipping up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Good luck with that. I’m sure Alfred will pick you up. See you later,” Clark says, closing the blinds and switching off the lights before he leaves the room.

Dick wakes up a few hours later to a text from Alfred, saying he’ll be on campus at 4pm to pick him up for dinner. Dick doesn’t bother to insist he can take the bus; he knows Alfred better than that. He gets ready and is already waiting outside when Alfred pulls up; he’s in a black Mustang this time, rather than the limo. Dick takes the front passenger seat. They exchange friendly greetings, but otherwise the first few minutes of the drive are spent in silence, other than the classical music playing softly from the radio. Dick tries to get his thoughts together, but he’s not sure quite how to start, and this is probably going to be an uncomfortable conversation no matter what; he might as well go for it.

“Clark knows that Bruce…” Dick starts to blurt out, before pausing. He tries to avoid saying “fuck” in front of Alfred; it just doesn’t seem right. “Clark knows that Bruce is attracted to him.” He settles on that phrasing, even though “attracted to” seems a bit of an understatement.

“Master Clark is an intelligent young man,” Alfred responds, nodding. He seems unsurprised; but then, little seems to surprise Alfred.

“I tried to talk to Bruce about it, but he won’t back off.” Dick says, turning in his seat to look at Alfred. Alfred continues to look straight ahead, watching the road, but he sighs softly, turning off the radio.

“Master Bruce was raised better than to press his suit where it is unwanted,” Alfred replies. Dick isn’t sure what Alfred is suggesting. Does Alfred think that Clark wants Bruce to “press his suit”?

“They met less than three weeks ago, and just this past week Bruce gave him a magical weight, a WayneTech phone, clothes, and use of your kitchen to make brownies,” Dick answers. “Did I mention over $100,000? Because I really feel like I should mention that. And he keeps picking up Clark from the bar in the middle of the night.”

“Do you begrudge Master Clark the gifts?” Alfred asks. “Or Master Bruce’s attention?”

Dick groans. “No. Of course I don’t care about the gifts themselves. Clark deserves all that and more, and he’s not exactly in a position to turn any of it down. But I know Bruce; if it was just gratitude for saving his life, or if he just liked Clark and wanted to help him, he could find ways to do it so Clark didn’t know it was from him. What I have a problem with is that Bruce wants Clark to know everything he's doing for him and giving to him. Because he wants Clark.”

Alfred hums lightly in response, before pulling onto one of the overlooks off the highway and parking. “Master Dick, I have known Master Bruce all his life,” Alfred says seriously, turning to look Dick in the eye. “If Master Clark does not enjoy Master Bruce’s attentions, he need only say so, and Master Bruce will stop.”

“So you won’t talk to him?” Dick asks, deflating. He really thought Alfred would be an ally in this.

Alfred shakes his head. “I will not. As I said earlier, Master Clark is an intelligent young man. He is also exceedingly kind, and he makes Master Bruce smile. Master Bruce will hear no objections from me.”

“You approve?!” Dick asks, shocked and unable to keep the accusation from his voice. “Bruce is thirteen years older than Clark. How would you feel if I shacked up with a guy in his thirties?”

“If he was as good a man as Master Bruce, and if he looked at you as Master Bruce looks at Master Clark, I would be very happy for you indeed,” Alfred says evenly.

Dick can’t think of a response to that. He sighs, leaning back in his seat and looking out the window. He can see the Manor from here, rising in the distance. Alfred puts the Mustang into drive and maneuvers back onto the highway, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence. Alfred pulls in front of the Manor and Dick goes to open the door, he realizes it’s locked. “It does you credit that you are protective of Master Clark,” Alfred tells him seriously. “But give him the respect of trusting his choices.” He unlocks the car, and Dick gets out. Bruce opens the front door before he can knock.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Bruce steps to the side, gesturing for Dick to enter. “Did you have a good talk with Alfred?” Bruce asks, his tone even and his face expressionless. Dick wonders if the Mustang was bugged, and Bruce heard everything they said; he wouldn’t be surprised. But he doesn’t ask. After his conversation with Alfred, he’s not in the mood for a fight with Bruce.

“Fine,” he replies noncommittally, stepping inside. Bruce closes the door behind him, and they stand there awkwardly for a moment. Dick wistfully remembers how it used to be, before he stopped being Robin. (Before every other conversation between them devolved into an argument.) It hasn’t been as bad since he left for college, but he knows that a lot of that is just distance and fewer opportunities to fight.

Clark and Jason walk into the foyer. Clark smiles brightly when he sees them; Jason barely scowls, which is honestly an improvement over how he normally greets Dick. “Hello, Mr. Wayne,” Clark greets Bruce respectfully, before focusing on Dick. “We’ve been waiting for you to watch Grey Ghost. I figure we can get in an episode or two before dinner, if you want?” Dick nods his agreement.

“I told Clark we didn’t have to wait for you, but he insisted,” Jason huffs. Dick tousles his hair playfully, dodging when Jason tries to hit him in retaliation.

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Wayne?” Clark offers tentatively, while Dick is still occupied with dodging Jason.

Bruce agrees, and Dick can only watch as Clark beams up at Bruce, something like hero worship in his bright blue eyes. Bruce’s expression softens, and his lips twitch into a small smile in return. Dick is so distracted that he forgets to keep dodging, and Jason gets one good hit in, nearly knocking the wind from Dick. His training kicks in and he goes on the offensive, pinning the kid to the floor. He’s careful not to hurt him, but Jason squirms and curses, trying to buck him off.

Clark turns away from Bruce, chuckling at their antics. Dick rolls to the side and back up to his feet, allowing Clark to distract Jason from trying to hit him again. As they all walk to the theater together, he tries to be subtle about watching Bruce. Bruce’s eyes barely leave Clark as he chats and laughs with Jason. Dick has never seen Bruce look at anyone like he’s looking at Clark now: a mix of attraction and affection and admiration. Bruce is an amazing actor, and far too good a manipulator for Dick’s comfort, and yet…

Dick’s instincts tell him that Bruce isn’t pretending. And he remembers another conversation with Alfred, this one from before he left for college, when Dick was complaining after yet another fight with Bruce. (“Master Bruce is a man capable of great feeling,” he can still hear Alfred’s voice saying. “It is both a great honor and a terrible burden to be the focus of such feeling, Master Dick.”)

As he settles into his seat in the theater and the theme song of Grey Ghost begins to play, Dick wonders if he’s too late to stop whatever he set in motion when he brought Clark to the Manor for Thanksgiving. Bruce is an unstoppable force; Clark is an immovable object. At this point, perhaps the best thing he can do is wait for the inevitable collision, and then help both Bruce and Clark pick up the pieces in the aftermath of the (hopefully metaphorical) explosion.

Chapter Text

Dick tries his best to get absorbed in the show, but he’s still tired from his late night, and at some point his eyes drift closed. He wakes up when Clark gently taps his shoulder, telling him it’s time for dinner.

Over roast chicken and vegetables, Clark and Jason babble excitedly about Grey Ghost, with Bruce and Dick chiming in occasionally. Dick is pushing some broccoli around on his plate when Jason brings up a particular Grey Ghost comic, and Clark says he hasn’t read it yet.

“You’re more than welcome to borrow it from the library,” Bruce offers.

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I might take you up on that after finals are over,” Clark responds with a shy smile. Clark’s mention of finals makes Dick sigh, remembering how much studying he has ahead of him. It also reminds Dick of the email he received from their resident assistant earlier that week, reminding him that the dorms would be closed after the last final exam on December 23. Everyone was required to leave the dorms for winter break.

Dick eats the last of his broccoli, thinking while he chews. If he tells Bruce now that the dorms will be closed and he’ll be home for winter break, he’s pretty sure Bruce will extend an offer for Clark to stay at the Manor as well. He’s torn. On the one hand, even though he’s decided that he won’t try to interfere with whatever is happening between Bruce and Clark, he also doesn’t want to encourage it. On the other hand, he realizes that Clark likely doesn’t have anywhere to go while the dorm is closed, and that Clark would never ask to stay at the Manor.

He sighs, the unpleasant thought of Clark living on the streets of Gotham for three weeks deciding him. “The dorms are closed for winter break,” Dick says, looking at Bruce. “I’ll come back to the Manor after my last final on December 23, and stay until classes start up again in mid-January.”

Bruce nods his understanding, and Jason immediately asks Clark where he’ll be staying for winter break. Clark blushes and avoids their eyes, clearly embarrassed. “I’ve petitioned to stay in the dorms. I should hear back this week,” he says softly.

“You can stay here,” Jason says excitedly, before he seems to realize that maybe he should ask first. “Bruce, he can stay here while the dorms are closed, can’t he?”

“Yes,” Bruce replies.

“I don’t want to impose,” Clark says, and Dick watches as he looks at Bruce with wide eyes, expression earnest. “You’ve been so welcoming and generous, but Christmas is a time for family.” Jason protests immediately (and loudly) that Clark would of course not be imposing, and Clark thanks him but says that Bruce might want to spend his holiday with just Alfred, Dick, and Jason.

Bruce shakes his head. “You’d be doing me a favor if you stayed, really,” he says, his tone light and something almost playful in his expression. “The boys might try to kidnap you if you try to go somewhere else, and it would look just terrible in the papers if Bruce Wayne bails his adopted sons out of jail on Christmas, wouldn’t it?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Mr. Wayne,” Clark responds, smiling shyly and ducking his head a bit. Dick just barely hears Bruce’s breath hitch, before he smoothes it into a controlled rhythm. Dick isn’t going to make the mistake (again) of thinking that Clark is completely innocent and oblivious. Clark has to know what he’s doing to Bruce, looking like that, all big blue eyes and rosy cheeks and lush pout curved in a shy smile.

Right?

“No trouble at all,” Bruce reassures him, smiling. Clark smiles back brightly. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bruce?”

“At least once more, Mr. Wayne,” Clark teases, a sparkle in his eye.

“You called me Bruce the first time I offered,” Bruce reminds him, genuinely grinning.

“A lapse in judgment, Mr. Wayne,” Clark replies, his tone still teasing and a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Bruce looks at Clark like he wants to devour him. Dick does his best to push that mental image away, but Bruce and Clark are flirting right in front of him. Dick isn’t sure he entirely succeeds at keeping the disgusted look off his face. Jason doesn’t even seem to try; they exchange a look of commiseration for their shared plight.

Alfred thankfully distracts them all when he carries in a tray of cookies and milk. Chocolate chip cookies – just like the ones Clark gushed over the previous Sunday. Clark beams at Alfred when he sees them, thanking him profusely. Alfred gives him a small smile back, obviously pleased by Clark’s outspoken appreciation for his baking.

Conversation then turns to capes, and Dick asks Bruce about reports that Wonder Woman and Batman worked together in DC recently. Bruce sighs. “Yes, Wonder Woman needed some help with surveillance.”

“What about the other Justice League members?” Clark asks, clearly fascinated.

“There is no Justice League,” Bruce says, shaking his head. “Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash, Cyborg, and Batman will occasionally work together when there’s a need, but the ‘Justice League’ is entirely a media creation.”

Clark frowns, clearly disappointed. “What about the Green Lantern?” he asks.

Bruce blinks a little too soon, the only sign that Clark’s surprised him. “I don’t believe Batman has ever encountered this Green Lantern?”

Clark’s surprise is much more obvious: all wide eyes and slightly parted pink lips. “The Green Lantern Corps are an intergalactic law enforcement organization. There is one Green Lantern assigned to Earth,” he explains.

“Intergalactic?” Jason chimes in. “Like, aliens?” Clark flinches, and Dick glares at Jason. He should know by now that Clark is sensitive about his origins.

“The Green Lantern assigned to Earth is human,” Clark tells them. “I think he travels a lot, though. Off Earth, I mean.”

“You’ve met this Green Lantern?” Bruce asks, but it is more a statement than a question.

“I’ve heard stories,” Clark mutters, shrugging. He’s clearly uncomfortable with the discussion.

“Are there a lot of other…” Jason pauses, and Dick has the feeling he’s looking for a word other than “alien.” “Um… people from other planets on Earth?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only met one other, and he’s… no longer on Earth,” Clark tells them softly, his words almost a whisper. Dick meets Bruce’s eyes, and he knows that they both realize there’s a story there. But Clark seems about thirty seconds from fleeing the Manor using super speed, and neither of them press him for details.

“Batman hasn’t encountered any extraterrestrials,” Bruce says carefully, and Dick notices that Clark doesn’t seem to react to that word. “But he’ll look into this Green Lantern. The Justice League is a good idea, but the others aren’t quite sold on it.”

“And people skills are not among Batman’s many strengths,” Dick adds, trying to keep his tone light and teasing.

Bruce nods in agreement. “We’re allies, but not a team. There's no... cohesion,” he explains. Dick can tell that it bothers Bruce, his inability to wrangle Earth’s biggest heroes.

“You need glue,” Jason chimes in, the smart ass. But… he’s not wrong. Dick of all people knows that Batman can push people away even when he’s trying to hold them close. Robin helped smooth out Batman’s edges, once, at least a little bit. But Batman doesn’t have a Robin now, and the Robin-in-training isn’t going to smooth anyone’s edges; his people skills might be worse than Batman’s.

Besides, the Justice League probably needs stronger glue than Robin to gel them together as a team.

Chapter Text

Alfred drives Dick and Clark back to the dorm after dinner, and then Dick is too busy with studying and taking finals to worry about anything else. He sees Clark a few times that week (and he’s a godsend, always bringing Dick food and water and coffee), but there’s no time to just hang out. And then the weekend is there before Dick knows it. On Saturday night, Clark brings him a coffee and asks him what time he’s going to the Manor the next day. But Dick has another final on Monday, and he doesn’t have the energy for another “family dinner”; all he wants to do is sleep and study.

Clark looks disappointed when Dick tells him that he’s planning to skip it. Dick spends his coffee break trying to encourage Clark to go to the Manor without him. Clark clearly wants to see Jason and Alfred (and Bruce, unfortunately), but says that it’s okay if they miss one. Dick decides to let someone else fight this battle for him: he texts Jason that he’ll be staying in the dorms tomorrow to study, but suggests that Jason make sure Clark knows that he’s still welcome. Dick doesn’t get a text back; instead, Clark’s phone pings immediately. And again. And again.

Dick watches as Clark looks at his phone and smiles. Clark types something back, and then he turns to Dick, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. “Jason is really looking forward to making pancakes again and hanging out tomorrow. If you’re sure you’re okay with me going without you…?” he asks. Dick assures him that it’s fine, turning back to his books; at some point, Clark leaves the room again, maybe mentioning something about a shift?

Clark is still gone when Dick finally goes to sleep that night, and Dick sleeps in the next morning. He wakes up to someone knocking on the door. Dick groans, pulling his pillow over his head to try to block out the noise. There’s a pause, and then more knocking. It is only when Dick hears someone (clumsily) trying to pick the lock that he drags himself out of bed. “What?” he barks, opening the door with a scowl on his face. He has to look down further than he thought he would: it’s just some kid, with messy black hair and bags under his eyes bigger than Dick’s. He’s tiny.

“Where’s Clark?” he asks, glaring up at Dick. He’s pretty fierce for a little thing. Dick blinks, yawning and stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He apparently doesn’t answer quickly enough, because the kid asks about Clark again, trying to peek past Dick into the room.

“He’s not here, kid,” Dick replies, stepping aside so the kid can see that the room is empty. The kid’s face falls, his shoulders drooping. Dick feels kind of bad for him. “What’s up? Maybe I can help?” The kid glares up at him again, and then leaves without another word.

Dick very briefly considers chasing after him, and then decides against it. He pulls out his phone instead. Clark texted him a few hours ago that he’s at the Manor and that he let Alfred know that Dick wouldn’t be able to make dinner. Dick texts him back, telling him that a kid stopped by their room looking for him. Clark just replies with a “thanks.” He doesn't provide any explanation. Dick would push, but he’s exhausted and has hours of studying ahead of him before tomorrow’s final. He makes a mental note to ask Clark about it later. Then he puts his phone away and sits at his desk, getting to work.

His day passes quickly, and before he knows it Clark is walking into the room, rolling a cooler bag behind him. “Alfred sent you some leftovers,” Clark tells him, smiling brightly. “I’m sure you had dinner already, but it’ll be a nice meal tomorrow.” Dick blinks, looking at the clock on his laptop. He didn’t have dinner. Actually, he’s not sure he’s eaten at all today? His stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Clark tilts his head, and Dick knows that Clark probably heard that.

“You haven’t eaten?” Clark asks, pulling out a container of soup. He pours some into a bowl, heats it up (watching lasers come out of Clark’s eyes will never get old), and then hands the bowl to Dick with a spoon. “Eat.”

Dick eats as Clark unpacks the cooler bag, most of the containers going in the fridge. When he’s done with the soup, Clark makes him drink some water before he turns back to his laptop. Clark smiles at him, before floating up to the top bunk. Dick briefly thinks about asking about Clark’s day at the Manor, or about the kid, but Clark’s back is already to him, and he needs to study for a while longer before he calls it a night.

He’s just as busy the following week (another blur of studying and finals), and then it is Thursday night. Dick has one last final the next afternoon, but he knows Clark is done for the semester. Dick takes a short break, chatting with Clark as he packs a small suitcase. Dick watches as Clark folds and packs the black jeans and cashmere sweater that Clark wore to dinner with Babs, and then a few other sweaters and buttoned shirts.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I go to the Manor tonight?” Clark asks him as he zips the suitcase closed. “I can wait and go with you tomorrow, if you want?”

“It’s fine,” Dick assures him, drinking yet another coffee. “Sorry I’ve been a zombie the past two weeks, but I’m looking forward to hanging out during break. And catching up on sleep.”

“I’m looking forward to hanging out too,” Clark tells him, beaming. He’s wearing his old jeans, paired with a deep red sweater a few sizes too big, but he looks so perfect Dick could scream: all artfully tousled hair and flawless skin and happy smile. Dick knows the bags under his own eyes are big enough to hold his clothes for winter break; Clark doesn’t even have an under-eye wallet.

“And sleep,” Dick says, because he thinks it bears repeating. He wishes he could take a nap. But no – no nap allowed. He needs to study. He finishes his coffee and stares at the bottom of his mug. (He needs more coffee.)

“I… um, I don’t really have to sleep? At least, not more than a few hours a week,” Clark tells him, his tone a bit sheepish.

“I guess that explains how you’re able to work so much,” Dick replies inanely, for lack of anything better to say. Of all Clark’s abilities, not needing to sleep might be the one that Dick is most jealous of right now.

Clark nods. “But um… we can talk more this weekend, but I wanted to let you know that I’m not working at the bar anymore,” he says. Dick asks him what happened, and Clark shrugs. “I quit. An anonymous donor provided extra funding, and now all Wayne Foundation full scholarships to Gotham University include housing and a meal plan.” Dick may be sleep deprived, but he doesn’t miss the knowing look in Clark’s eyes when he says “anonymous donor.”

Dick knows Bruce can be subtle; but not, apparently, when it comes to Clark. Or more likely, Bruce doesn’t want to be subtle.

“Congrats, then,” Dick tells him.

“Thanks,” Clark says, throwing a few toiletries in his backpack before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. “The library is closed over winter break too, and it’ll be really nice to have a few weeks off. I’m glad that I found out about the extra funding before break. I really wasn’t looking forward to a bunch of lonely guys pawing at me over the holidays.”

“Some of those guys were real sleazeballs,” Dick agrees, remembering the way the guys around the bar would stare at Clark and slip money into his pockets and say things that would make him blush. A lot of them acted like Clark was just an object for their lust; like Clark wasn’t a real person, working hard to get through college.

Clark’s phone pings. “Alfred is outside,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Dick agrees, going back to his studying. He goes to sleep at a semi-reasonable time, and he’s pleasantly surprised that he feels good about how he did on the exam when he walks out the following afternoon. He texts Alfred when he’s back at the dorm; by the time he’s packed his duffel and heads outside, Alfred is already waiting.

Chapter Text

After Dick puts his duffel bag in his room, he heads down to the kitchen for a snack. Clark and Jason are already there, standing side-by-side, their backs to Dick. Before he can announce himself, Clark turns around. “Hey,” Clark greets, smiling brightly. “How was your final?”

“I think it went well,” Dick replies, shrugging. “What are you up to?”

“We’re making cookies,” Jason tells him, turning around with a scowl. “Obviously. You can go away.” Clark sighs and says Jason’s name in a gentle, but chiding tone. Jason huffs, turning back to the countertop but muttering that Dick can stay.

Well, Dick feels truly welcome now.

“Jason’s helping me with a few of my Ma’s recipes,” Clark tells him, gesturing to a rack on the counter with dozens of cookies on it. Dick recognizes chocolate chip and gingerbread, but there are a few kinds that he hasn’t seen before. Clark offers him a chocolate chip cookie and asks if he’d like to help. Dick agrees, ignoring Jason’s glare, and Clark tells him to sit at the island, bringing over a metal tray, a bowl of tan cookie dough, and a spoon.

“Peanut butter cookies,” Clark says, popping a bit of dough in his mouth with a smile. “You just use the spoon to take a little dough, roll it in a ball, and – ta da.” Clark demonstrates the technique as he speaks, before presenting Dick with a perfectly round ball of cookie dough.

“Don’t we need to take the paper out?” Dick asks, noticing when Clark places the ball on the metal tray that there’s some white paper inside.

“No, that’s parchment paper,” Clark tells him. “It helps the cookies bake more evenly, and keeps them from sticking to the metal.” Dick nods in response as he uses the spoon to take a little dough and roll it into a ball.

“Good job, but try to get them all about the same size,” Clark tells him, turning back to help Jason with the mixing bowl. Dick realizes that his ball of cookie dough is quite a bit larger than the one that Clark rolled; he pulls a bit off and rerolls it. Then he focuses on rolling the rest of the dough that Clark gave him. The easy, repetitive motions are relaxing; he doesn’t have to think about anything but methodically rolling the cookie dough into balls.

Clark and Jason chat as they work. Clark explains what he’s doing and why before he does it; then after he demonstrates, he lets Jason try. It’s kind of amazing to see Clark cracking eggs perfectly; Dick can only imagine how much control Clark has over his strength. It’s even more amazing to see Jason actually listen to someone and follow their directions. Once Jason is mixing everything together, Clark turns back to Dick. He smiles when he looks down at the balls of dough that Dick rolled. Dick knows they aren’t all exactly the same size, but he thinks they’re pretty close.

“They need to be spread out a bit more,” Clark explains as he grabs another tray and puts it in front of Dick. “They spread out when they bake. If you put the balls too close together, the cookies will bake into each other.” Clark transfers half of the balls that Dick rolled onto the second tray, lining them up precisely so there are four rows of three balls on each tray.

“I think it’s done?” Jason says, and Clark turns back to look into the bowl that Jason is holding. He nods, gently knocking their shoulders together and telling Jason he did a good job. He directs Jason to put the bowl in the refrigerator for now, and asks Jason to help Dick roll the rest of the peanut butter cookies.

“The rest?” Dick asks. The bowl of cookie dough that Clark set in front of him is empty. Jason walks to the refrigerator and switches his bowl with another. He brings it over to Dick with another two trays.

At the same time, Clark squints at the oven. By now, Dick easily recognizes the look of Clark using his abilities to see through things. “I think the sugar cookies are done,” he says happily, before opening the oven and pulling out four trays. He’s explaining to Jason that they need to let them cool and harden just a bit before moving them over to the cooling racks, when Alfred walks in.

Clark beams at him. “Thank again for letting us use your kitchen, Alfred,” he says, as he walks over to help Dick and Jason roll the peanut butter cookies.

“You are more than welcome, Master Clark,” Alfred tells him. “Now, how may I assist?”

“Oh, I couldn’t…” Clark trails off, looking at Dick and Jason for help. They both busy themselves with rolling the dough, and pretend they don’t hear him. “Um… You can help with the kisses, Alfred?”

What?

“What is this I hear about kisses?” Bruce asks from the doorway, asking the question before Dick can.

Clark blushes, holding up a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. “They go in the middle of the peanut butter cookies, so they look kind of like flowers? But you need to peel off the wrappers first.”

Bruce walks into the kitchen. “Even I can do that,” he says, undoing his tie and shrugging out of his suit jacket.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says calmly.

Bruce sighs, looking down at his white dress shirt and suit trousers. “I’ll go get changed first,” he says, turning to walk back out of the kitchen. (Dick pretends he doesn’t see Clark looking at Bruce’s ass as he walks away.)

“I would be happy to unwrap the chocolates, Master Clark,” Alfred says, and Clark smiles brightly as he thanks Alfred, putting the chocolates and an empty bowl in front of him.

Clark helps Dick and Jason roll the rest of the peanut butter cookies, and then he puts the trays in the oven while Jason sets a timer and gets another mixing bowl from the refrigerator. Clark is showing them how to use an ice cream scoop to get the coconut cookie mix into the right shape on the parchment paper when Bruce re-enters the kitchen. He’s dressed casually in dark blue jeans and a dark blue sweater that shows off the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his chest and arms.

Clark just about trips over his tongue when he sees Bruce. He practically throws the ice cream scoop at Dick, ducking his head and heading to the sink to wash out some of the bowls and spoons that he and Jason must have used earlier. Dick can see that he’s blushing to the tips of his ears. Bruce offers to help him wash up, and Clark protests (“Mr. Wayne, you’ve already done so much, really”). They compromise: Clark will wash, and Bruce will dry. Dick notices Alfred smiling fondly as he subtly watches the way Bruce and Clark interact.

Dick sighs. Jason scowls at him. “You’re too slow,” he complains, swiping the ice cream scoop from Dick’s hand. Dick doesn’t protest; he takes the opportunity to watch Clark and Bruce interact, trying to see what Alfred sees. Clark is looking down at the sink, focused on washing a big metal bowl. Bruce is standing there, dishtowel in hand, just looking at Clark; his expression is soft, almost vulnerable.

“Done,” Jason says loudly. Clark startles a bit, turning off the water and handing the bowl to Bruce to dry.

“Let me check on the peanut butter cookies,” he says, squinting at the oven from where he stands by the sink.

“Would you like me to check on them, Master Clark?” Alfred asks, moving to stand up. He’s already finished unwrapping all the Kisses (as efficient as always, that’s Alfred).

“Oh, um – I can see them from here,” Clark says, a bit sheepish. “I can sort of – see through things?”

“Very useful,” Alfred says, his tone even. “And not just for baking, I imagine.”

Clark smiles, shrugging. “I think the peanut butter cookies are ready. Do you want to get them out, Jason?” Jason nods, scrambling over to the oven. He pulls on two oven mitts and carefully takes the trays out, bringing them over to the counter near Alfred. Clark shows him how to press the Kisses to the middle of the still-warm cookies.

Bruce is watching them, a genuine smile on his lips. Dick catches Bruce’s gaze, and the smile slips away, wariness creeping into his expression. Dick subtly shrugs; it isn’t a sign of approval, but it isn’t a sign of disapproval either. Bruce’s gaze sharpens; neither of them says anything.

“I think the gingerbread cookies should be cool enough to ice by now,” Clark says, breaking the silence. Clark lets Jason help him mix the icing, and then Clark splits the gingerbread cookies into five piles. “Do you have piping bags?” he asks, and Alfred shows him, and then pretty soon all five of them are sitting there icing gingerbread cookies. If only Batman’s Rogues Gallery could see him now…

At some point, Clark asks randomly about the house down the road and whether they ever spend time with their neighbors. Dick shrugs; he knows nothing about the neighbors. “Sometimes I see a short black-haired boy running for the bus,” Jason tells Clark, before Alfred notes that the neighbors moved in relatively recently.

“If it’s all right with you, I’m going to bring them some cookies later,” Clark says, looking at Bruce. Bruce nods in response, and Dick watches as he goes perfectly still in the face of Clark’s bright smile. Jason immediately says he’ll go too, pulling Clark’s attention (and smile) from Bruce. Dick declines Clark’s offer to join them after checking the time. A few of his friends from high school are getting together that evening, and he needs to shower and get changed soon if he doesn’t want to be late.

Chapter Text

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Wha-?” Dick mumbles, rolling on his side to pull his pillow over his ear. What is it with people waking him up when all he wants to do is sleep?

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Dick pulls his blanket over his head too, trying to drown out the noise. He was out late the night before, and maybe he had just a little bit too much to drink, and his head is killing him.

“Wake up, asshole!” Jason yells through the door, rattling the handle. Dick doesn’t remember locking it the night before, but apparently he did. Jason continues banging on the door.

“Go away!” Dick mumbles. He’s not sure if Jason heard him, but the kid doesn’t stop. “What?!” he shouts from under his blanket. Jason yells at him again to get up. “Ugh,” Dick groans, pulling the blanket down and sitting up. Ugh – he’s still in his clothes from the night before. He checks the time; it’s only noon. Jason is still banging on the door and yelling, so Dick stumbles to his feet and angrily opens the door. “What?!” he shouts again.

Jason is standing there, one hand still raised from where it was banging on Dick’s door, the other holding his phone. “Clark texted – he and Bruce are on their way back from brunch,” he says, scowling.

“Brunch?” Dick questions, leaning against his doorjamb. He just wants to go back to sleep. But why were Clark and Bruce at brunch? Better yet, why does their return mean Dick has to wake up?

“Clark says that Bruce got into a fight,” Jason tells him, looking down at his phone.

Dick blinks. “ Bruce got into a fight,” he repeats, wondering why Batman was needed so early in the day. “Does he need backup? I can go…”

“Clark is with him, idiot. He has backup,” Jason interrupts him. “And you aren’t listening. Bruce got into a fight as Brucie.”

“W-what?” Dick questions, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Jason pushes past him into Dick’s room, sitting in his desk chair. Dick sighs, stumbling to sit on the edge of his bed. Why would Brucie get into a fight?

“Here,” Jason says, sticking his phone in Dick’s face. Dick looks down: there’s a video, titled “Billionaires Brawl!!!” Jason presses play.

It’s a shaky video, but it’s unmistakably Bruce, dressed in a perfectly-fitting black suit and standing in what looks to be a fancy restaurant, already mid-fight with some bald man almost (but not quite) as big as he is. The bald man has his back to the camera, and Bruce throws a sharp right hook that knocks him off his feet and into the table behind him. The table wobbles, and then crashes to the floor, the weight of the man too much for it. Food goes flying; glass shatters; onlookers scream.

Dick notices Clark, half in the frame, looking on with wide eyes. He’s in a navy suit that fits him just right, his hair gelled into some semblance of control, except for one curl on his forehead that stubbornly refuses to be tamed. The bald man gets up, turns just enough so his profile is in view – and Dick immediately recognizes Lex Luthor. It looks like he and Bruce are exchanging harsh words as well as punches, but the audio doesn’t capture what they’re saying; even if the camera was close enough, other people are shouting and talking over them. Dick tries to read their lips, but the angle isn’t quite right, and the video is too shaky.

He watches as Luthor gets in a good hit on Bruce; Dick notices that, at the last minute, Bruce leans into the hit instead of avoiding it, catching Luthor’s fist on the cheek. Dick is (somewhat) reassured to see that Bruce is aware enough of his audience that Brucie is just an average fighter. Bruce stumbles back a few steps from the force of Luthor’s punch – and then Clark steps between them, facing Luthor (and the camera). Clark’s holding his arms up in a placating gesture, eyes wide and a pleading look on his face, and Dick’s can’t tell exactly what Clark’s saying, but there’s a “Please, Lex,” in there.

The video ends.

“Well, fuck,” Dick says, looking up at Jason.

“There are a bunch of videos all over social media – Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. They’re everywhere,” Jason tells him. “None of the ones I’ve seen so far capture the beginning of the fight; this one starts the earliest.”

“Fuck,” Dick says again. He picks up his phone from the nightstand. It’s dead; he must have forgotten to plug it in before he fell asleep. Dick plugs it in now, waiting anxiously for it to charge enough to see if he has missed any texts that explain what, exactly, is going on. “What did Clark say?” he asks Jason.

“Nothing – just that Bruce got into a fight, and they’re on their way back. Shouldn’t be more half an hour more,” Jason says, checking his phone again.

“Alfred?” Dick asks.

“He drove them into the city this morning. He’s still not back, so I guess he went to pick them up,” Jason responds, shrugging.

“Why would Bruce fight Lex Luthor in the middle of a restaurant?” Dick asks, not expecting Jason to know. Jason shrugs again, looking down at his phone. Dick’s phone is charged just enough that he can turn it on; he has texts from Clark, and Alfred, and Babs. Nothing from Bruce. Nothing that explains what is going on.

Dick watches the first video again, and then a few other videos from different angles, and then he’s scrolling through Twitter. Jason is right: the videos are everywhere. People are speculating about why Bruce and Luthor were fighting, rating the fight, deciding who won. GIFs are popping up: Luthor falling back into the table, Luthor clocking Bruce, Clark’s shocked face, Clark standing there with his arms up. People are making memes, and picking sides: Team Brucie versus Team Lex.

And people are speculating about who Clark is, and why he’s there. Then, inevitably, someone (goddamn Edgar Cottingham IV) identifies Clark, and links to the Gotham Gazette article from a few weeks ago. The photo of Dick glaring and elbowing Bruce as Bruce practically gawps at Clark’s ass starts making the rounds. Then someone crops the photo so it just shows Clark’s (amazing) ass. And then people are making memes using Clark’s ass.

Jason kicks him (pretty hard, ow). Dick looks up. Jason is scowling, and he shoves his phone in Dick’s face again. There are three photos: on the top is the photo of Clark’s ass; in the middle is a still of Luthor falling into the table, Bruce’s arm still outstretched from his punch; and on the bottom is the photo of Clark’s shocked face. The text reads (not very creatively): “When your milkshake brings all the billionaires to the yard…”

Jason says what Dick is thinking: “Do you think they were really fighting over Clark?” Dick thinks of the last few seconds of the first video, the pleading (familiar, too familiar) look that Clark gave Luthor, the way his lips formed his name (“Lex,” not “Mr. Luthor”).

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “Maybe.”

Jason huffs. He stands up, and starts walking out of the room: “I’m going downstairs, and I’m gonna ask when they get here.” Dick nods, wincing. He almost forgot about his headache in all the excitement, but his head is still pounding. He checks the time; probably not enough time to shower, if he wants to be downstairs with Jason when Bruce and Clark get back.

Dick forgoes the shower, brushing his teeth quickly and getting changed into clean clothes. He checks his phone one more time before he heads downstairs: no new texts from anyone who matters, although some of his friends from high school and college are asking if it’s true that Bruce and Luthor are fighting over his roommate. Dick ignores them.

He sighs. Never a dull moment.

Was it too much to ask for a boring (normal) Christmas Eve?

Chapter Text

Dick somehow convinces Jason to wait for Bruce and Clark in the foyer, rather than outside. But he can’t stop the kid from opening the front door as soon as they hear the limo coming down the driveway. They watch as Alfred gets out and opens the door. Clark gets out first, and then turns around. Dick looks on in disbelief as Bruce lets Clark help him out of the limo. And then Bruce seems to listen when Clark encourages Bruce to press something (an ice pack?) to his cheek.

Bruce and Clark walk side-by-side towards the Manor, and Jason is nearly shaking with his desire to run outside to meet them. Dick reaches out to grab the back of Jason’s shirt, to hold him in place. Jason glares at him but doesn’t try to get away; Dick considers it progress that the kid doesn’t try to deck him.

“Are you going to let us inside?” Bruce asks, a wry twist to his lips, when he and Clark reach the front door. Dick tugs the back of Jason’s shirt to pull him out of the way when he doesn’t step aside immediately.

“What happened?!” Jason asks, nearly shouting.

Bruce sighs, seemingly a bit exasperated with all the fuss. Clark just looks concerned and embarrassed. “I checked, and I don’t think he has a concussion, and nothing is broken,” Clark assures them. “But B-Bruce did get hit pretty hard in the head, so why don’t we let him sit down first, and then we can talk?”

Dick doesn’t comment on Clark’s use of Bruce’s first name, but makes a mental note to ask him about it later. He’s somewhat surprised when Jason doesn’t immediately demand answers, instead letting Clark herd them all to the library. Bruce and Dick and Jason sit in the large armchairs by the fireplace. Clark hovers for a second, and then says he’ll be right back with a “real” icepack. He leaves the room in a blur.

“What happened?” Dick asks Bruce, but before he can answer, Clark reappears by Bruce’s side. He takes the linen napkin Bruce has pressed to his cheek, pulls from it what looks like a solid block of ice, and then wraps the napkin around the ice pack in his other hand, before encouraging Bruce to press the new ice pack to his cheek. Clark disappears for another second, and then reappears to sit in the chair next to Bruce.

“Please,” Bruce says, gesturing to the fireplace. Clark smiles at him, somewhat tentative, and then turns his head towards the fireplace; there’s a quick flash of light, and then the logs are on fire.

“Whoa,” Jason breathes, and Dick realizes that’s probably the first time Jason saw Clark use his heat vision. That’s apparently not the case for Bruce; he was far too casual in asking Clark to light the fire.

“There’s videos online of your fight with Luthor. What was that about?” Dick asks Bruce. Jason immediately turns from staring at the fire to scowling at Bruce, an expectant look on his face.

“He was rude,” Bruce replies. Dick waits a moment or two, but no other explanation is immediately forthcoming.

“People are rude to Brucie all the time,” Dick points out. “I’ve never seen Brucie punch anyone in the middle of a fancy restaurant.”

“He was rude to Clark,” Bruce says, glancing at Clark out of the corner of his eyes. Dick follows Bruce’s gaze: Clark looks uncomfortable, maybe even ashamed.

“So you decked the asshole,” Jason says with a bloodthirsty grin. Dick thinks that Bruce grins back; he can’t tell for sure, because Bruce’s mouth is somewhat obscured by the hand still holding the ice pack to his cheek.

“It wasn’t his fault; Lex tried to hit him first,” Clark says defensively, clearly taking Jason’s words as an admonition of Bruce’s actions (rather than the praise Dick knows that Jason meant them as).

“I mean, Luthor clearly has a few screws loose,” Dick responds. “But why’d he try to hit Brucie?”

“I guess my face is just that punchable,” Bruce replies evasively. Jason brings up the videos again, pulling out his phone to start to show Bruce some of the top tweets about the fight. Bruce just shrugs. “It’s fine. I called Lucius on the drive back, and he’s getting the media team on it.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark says softly. “If it wasn’t for me…”

Bruce interrupts him: “It’s not your fault.” Bruce stares into Clark’s eyes for a moment, and Dick isn’t sure that either of them remembers that he and Jason are still in the room. And then Alfred clears his throat from the doorway, drawing all of their attention. “I showed Dr. Thompkins to your study, Master Bruce,” Alfred says.

“Best not to keep Leslie waiting,” Bruce replies; Alfred follows him out of the library when he leaves, leaving Dick with Clark and Jason.

“Well?” Jason asks Clark expectantly, just barely waiting until Bruce and Alfred are out of sight.

“Well what?” Clark replies. Dick and Jason both shoot him disbelieving looks, and Clark blushes under their stares. “I don’t – do we have to talk about it now? It’s Christmas Eve.” His tone is pleading. “Can we just – go watch Grey Ghost or something until dinner? Please?”

“Later. If you don’t want to talk about the fight, why don’t we talk about why you were even at that restaurant with Bruce?” Dick asks.

“Or where you got that get-up,” Jason adds, looking pointedly at Clark’s navy suit.

Dick watches as Clark squirms a bit in his seat. “Bruce wanted my help with surveillance. And the restaurant had a dress code,” Clark tells them. It’s an answer, and it’s not, but Clark (very inartfully) dodges their other questions until Bruce comes back into the library. He’s changed out of his suit, and into a pair of dark jeans and a sweater. He’s not holding the ice pack anymore; Dick can tell he’s going to have a hell of a shiner later.

“What did the doctor say?” Clark asks, squinting at Bruce. “I don’t see any swelling, but I’m not exactly sure what a concussion looks like.”

“Leslie says I’m fine,” Bruce assures him. “She already left. Do you mind coming down to the Cave?” Clark nods, blurring and immediately appearing at Bruce’s side. Dick and Jason both stand up, protesting that they still have no idea what happened. Bruce just looks at them calmly until they stop talking. “Clark, you might want to get changed out of that suit and into something more comfortable. I’ll meet you down in the Cave.”

Clark looks down at his suit, and then glances as where Dick and Jason are standing. He shifts uncertainly. Dick watches as Bruce catches Clark’s gaze; some unspoken message seems to pass between them. “Okay,” Clark murmurs finally, nodding. “I’ll wait in the Cave.” Clark disappears with a blur.

Bruce turns to them. “Luthor was rude to Clark. I was rude right back. Luthor took exception, and then he took a swing. He missed. A few of the videos start right around there; you’ve seen what happened next,” his voice is matter of fact, his gaze even. “You’re not to bother Clark about it.” Jason goes to protest again, but Bruce is immovable. “That’s my final word on the matter,” he says, and then leaves the room, as if that is that: his way or the highway, as usual.

“What a jerk,” Jason huffs, throwing himself back into the armchair closest to the fire. “He didn’t explain anything.”

Dick sits down again too, staring pensively into the fire. He thinks of the embarrassment on Clark’s face; the way Bruce reassured Clark the fight wasn’t his fault; the cold look in Bruce’s eyes when he mentioned Luthor. There’s definitely a lot more to the story, but Dick knows better than to try to get Bruce to talk when he’s decided not to. And if Bruce doesn’t want them to know, Alfred is unlikely to tell them anything, even if he knows (and he usually does). Dick looks at Jason; he’s scowling and muttering curses as he looks down at his phone, scrolling through various tweets. Jason briefly stops on a GIF of Clark facing Luthor, a pleading look on his face; Dick remembers the way Clark’s lips formed the words: “Please, Lex.”

Dick can’t just leave it. He’ll have to find a way to talk to Clark alone.

Chapter Text

Dick goes back upstairs to shower, and then he crawls back into his bed. Dick figures that he’ll have to wait a while to get Clark alone; Bruce is keeping Clark by his side in the Cave for now. And there’s no point in scrolling obsessively through social media for clues. He might as well catch up on some sleep.

When Dick walks into the small dining room for Christmas Eve dinner a few hours later, he’s surprised to see a familiar-looking kid sitting at the table next to Clark, across from Bruce, Jason, and Alfred. The kid’s young; if Dick had to guess, he would say eight or nine. Maybe ten?

“What took you so long?” Jason demands, before Dick can even say hello. “Al said we had to wait for you to eat.” The table is already loaded with food, and Jason grabs a bread roll.

Clark smiles fondly at Jason, before turning to Dick and introducing their unexpected guest: “Tim, this is Dick Grayson. Dick, this is Tim Drake.” He doesn’t provide any explanation for why this Tim Drake is at the Manor on Christmas Eve.

“Nice to meet you,” Dick says, wondering why the kid seems so familiar. Dick would swear that he’s seen him before.

“We’ve met before,” Tim tells him, but doesn’t explain when or where. Then Tim stands up and holds out his hand to Dick for a handshake. Tim seems so serious; Dick kind of wants to ruffle his messy black hair, just to see how he’ll react. He refrains, shaking Tim’s hand instead before taking the seat on the other side of Clark.

“Tim just moved into the house down the street a few weeks ago,” Clark explains, as they all begin to pass the food around the table and load up their plates. “I was surprised to see him when Jay and I brought cookies over yesterday. He’s in the library all the time.”

That’s all well and good, but Dick still has no idea why Tim is with them at the Manor, instead of home with his family. He thinks about asking, but Tim’s solemn little face stops him. If Tim is alone because something happened to his family, best not to ask right in front of him.

“Do you… like the library?” Dick asks Tim. He’s maybe a little awkward; he’s not quite sure how to talk to children Tim’s age. And he still can’t recall when or where he met Tim before.

Tim looks to Clark, before focusing on Dick. “It is a quiet place to study, especially when Clark’s there,” he replies. Clark smiles at Tim kindly. Dick watches as Tim smiles back tentatively, and he suddenly remembers where he's seen Tim before: he's the kid who was looking for Clark at the dorm. Dick still hasn't spoken with Clark about why Tim was looking for him. (Dick still hasn't spoken with Clark about a lot of things.)

“Tim’s taking some classes at the university,” Clark says. “He’s very good with computers.” Dick notices that Jason is scowling whenever he’s not stuffing his face with Alfred’s food; nothing particularly new there, except that Jason’s scowl seems directed at Tim rather than Bruce or Dick. A somewhat awkward silence descends for a few moments, and then Clark continues: “Tim is also a big Grey Ghost fan. I thought we could all watch the Christmas special in the theater together after dinner, and maybe a few other Christmas movies?” Clark looks to Bruce.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bruce says immediately. Alfred agrees.

“That’ll be nice,” Dick adds, fondly remembering the Christmas Eve three years ago when Brucie didn’t go to any parties, and Batman didn’t go on patrol, and instead Bruce, Dick, and Alfred watched Christmas movies and drank hot cocoa.

“What do you think, Jay?” Clark asks Jason.

“Fine,” he mumbles.

“If there’s something else you want to do…” Clark starts.

“I said it’s fine,” Jason replies sharply. Clark seems a bit surprised by Jason’s tone; when he glances at Dick, Dick shrugs. He certainly doesn’t have any idea what’s going through the little twerp’s mind. Jason doesn’t seem to like Tim; but then, Jason doesn’t seem to like much of anyone, except Clark and maybe Alfred.

Clark and Dick mostly carry the conversation while they eat, with Bruce and Alfred occasionally chiming in. They stick to safe topics: nothing about Batman because of Tim, and Luthor is the elephant in the room that no one mentions (and a particularly hard to forget elephant, given the bruise blooming on Bruce’s cheek and around his eye). Dick notices that Jason is unusually quiet, and Tim barely says a word, just observing them all carefully. He reminds Dick of Bruce, somehow, and it isn’t just the dark hair and bright blue eyes: something in his bearing is Bruce-like.

Shit. Tim isn’t Bruce’s kid, is he? Dick can’t imagine Bruce not taking precautions, but he’s pretty sure that Bruce at thirty-one is a different person than Bruce was at twenty-one or twenty-two. And if Dick is right that Tim’s eight or nine, that’s about how old Bruce would have been when Tim was conceived. Did Bruce discover he had a kid and bring him to a family dinner without telling anyone? Or better (worse) yet, did Bruce somehow manipulate an unknowing Clark into inviting Bruce’s secret kid for him?

Dick thinks that would be a very Bruce-like thing to do, as he glances subtly between Bruce’s and Tim’s equally solemn expressions. The resemblance is almost eerie.

Clark distracts Dick from his thoughts by asking about the party the previous night. Dick just replies “good”; he might give Clark the salacious details later, but he’s not sharing those with his family and a little kid. Clark then asks about Babs; Dick explains that she’s spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her family, but that she promised Dick that she’d visit the Manor on Boxing Day. Even as he talks with Clark, Dick’s thoughts are half-focused on questions of Tim’s parentage.

Dinner passes relatively quickly, and then Alfred makes them all hot cocoa, and Clark grabs a plate of Christmas cookies and some milk, and they all shuffle over to the theater room and settle in. Tim sits to Clark’s left, and Dick watches (and tries to suppress a smirk) as Jason darts around Bruce to grab the seat to Clark’s right. Bruce’s expression doesn’t change; he sits on Jason’s other side as if that was his plan all along. Dick sits to the other side of Tim, and Alfred to the other side of Bruce, as Clark passes out the cookies and starts the movie.

The Grey Ghost Christmas Special is as good as Dick remembered; maybe better, because of the fond memories he has associated with it. And Dick is more than thankful that they are all quiet movie-watchers; he can just sit there quietly and try to focus on the movie and not on the millions of questions bouncing around his brain.

“What next?” Clark asks Tim as the credits roll. Tim just shrugs. “Jay – any preferences?”

“Die Hard,” Jason replies, a shit-eating grin on his face. Dick immediately protests that Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, and also isn’t a good movie for little kids.

“I’m 15!” Jason protests, jumping out of his seat, at the same time that Tim says quietly: “I’m not a little kid.” Bruce catches Jason by the back of his jeans before he can advance on Dick. Dick can tell that Jason is thinking about trying to lunge for him anyway, but thankfully Clark interrupts.

“What about Elf?” he suggests, pressing play without waiting for a response. Jason mumbles a few curses but sits back down. Dick falls asleep partway through the movie; he blinks awake to the credits rolling. Jason is insisting that he’s not tired and he wants to watch Die Hard next; Bruce is telling him to go upstairs and go to bed instead. Not to surprisingly, Jason just gets a stubborn look on his face and refuses to get up.

Tim is fast asleep, his head resting on Clark’s shoulder. “I’ll take him home,” Clark says, smiling fondly as he stands and gently picks Tim up. Tim murmurs something unintelligible, wrapping his arms around Clark’s neck and his legs around Clark’s waist, before settling back to sleep with his face burrowed in Clark’s neck. Dick catches Jason glaring at Tim again; he meets Jason’s eyes, raising an eyebrow in question.

Jason just flushes and looks away, mumbling that he’s going to bed as he stomps out of the room. Clark quietly wishes them all a good night as he follows Jason out, Tim fast asleep in his arms. Alfred gathers up the empty mugs and plates as Bruce shuts off the screen.

“Wait,” Bruce tells Dick as Alfred leaves the room. Dick waits.

“What?” he asks, after a moment passes.

“Tim isn’t mine,” Bruce says, clearly uncomfortable. Dick just stares back at him, wondering if there’s a dumb look on his face. Can Bruce read minds now? “I’m not reading your mind,” Bruce continues. “I just know you, and I know how you think. Tim’s parents are Jack and Janet Drake. When Clark and Jason went over last night to bring them cookies, Tim was alone in the house.”

“They left an eight year old by himself?” Dick asks, somewhat incredulously.

“Tim’s 12. But yes, apparently the Drakes went on a business trip and will be back after the New Year.” Bruce replies, his expression serious, almost forbidding. Dick knows that Bruce is probably thinking the same thing he is: what kinds of parents leave their 12-year-old kid alone for a week, especially over the holidays? (Also, Dick is shocked that Tim is 12. He’s tiny.) Bruce continues: “Clark told me that he was going back today to keep Tim company, and I told him to invite Tim over.”

“That was nice of you,” Dick responds. “Are you adopting him?” Bruce gapes at him for a moment, and then he smiles fondly and ruffles Dick’s hair like he used to do when Dick was younger. Dick dodges, laughing. “Batman has a soft spot,” he teases.

“Laugh it up,” Bruce says, still smiling. “I think two kids is enough for now, don’t you?” Dick could say something mean about Clark being a kid too. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with Bruce; it’s the first time they’ve genuinely gotten along, as opposed to just not fighting, in a while.

And besides, it isn’t true: even if Clark is young, he is an adult, and it isn’t fair to Clark or to Bruce to pretend otherwise.

Chapter Text

The next morning, when Dick wakes up, the ground outside the Manor is covered in snow. He trudges downstairs to the kitchen, still half-asleep. The kitchen is already full: Clark and Jason are standing side-by-side in front of the stove; Alfred is sitting at the island, smiling fondly as they interact; and (perhaps not-so-surprisingly) Tim is sitting next to Alfred, a plate piled high with what looks like pancakes in front of him. He’s eating quickly, but neatly, looking around occasionally, as if not sure how he got there.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Clark calls over his shoulder without turning around, obviously sensing Dick in the doorway. “Chocolate chips?”

“Sure,” Dick replies, walking into the kitchen. Up close, he realizes that Tim’s pancakes are in the shape of Christmas trees (and absolutely drowning in syrup). He wonders idly how Clark got them in that shape?

“Good morning, Master Dick,” Alfred greets him with a small smile. “And Happy Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Dick says on a yawn, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Tim murmurs back politely, in between bites of his pancakes. Even Jason mumbles it from his place in front of the stove. Alfred touches Dick on the shoulder affectionately, before leaving the kitchen; probably to make sure the gifts are all arranged perfectly under the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Dick,” Clark says, handing Dick a plate with his own Christmas tree-shaped pancakes, before he turns to Tim and asks him if he wants any more. The kid has already eaten his plate clean.

“No, thank you,” Tim responds, standing up to carry his plate to the sink. Clark just takes it from him with a smile, gently shooing him away from the sink when Tim goes to wash the plate. Tim sits back down, whispering another quiet “thank you” when Clark hands him a glass of orange juice.

“Bruce not up yet?” Dick mumbles. Clark cocks his head to the side, his eyes going a bit unfocused.

“No, still asleep,” he says, before catching sight of Tim, who is watching Clark closely with a curious look on his face. “Oh… um, because obviously he’d be down here with us, if he was awake.” Clark’s a terrible liar, awkward and stumbling over his words.

Tim glances at Dick, and then at Jason’s back, before nodding. “It’s okay, Clark. I know,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You… know that Bruce would be down here if he was awake?” Clark asks, a hopeful expression on his face as he looks at Tim. Jason snorts, shutting off the stove and turning around to stand at Clark’s side. Tim glances briefly at Jason, and then back to Clark.

“I know about your hearing,” Tim replies. When Clark opens his mouth, presumably to deny it, Tim continues: “And I know that Mr. Wayne is Batman, and Dick was Robin, up until a few months ago.”

Clark stands there, looking utterly lost. Dick feels much the same way.

“If you tell anyone,” Jason says in a threatening voice. Clark wraps him in a hug before he can advance on Tim, who is still looking at them, his gaze assessing. He reminds Dick vividly of Bruce, when he’s figuring out some mystery and is testing his conclusion.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tim responds after a moment of awkward silence, tilting his chin stubbornly. “I’ve known about Mr. Wayne and Dick for three years, and I never said anything to anyone.”

“Jesus, kid,” Dick says, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Why would you think something like that?”

“About six years ago, I saw the Flying Graysons perform at Haley’s Circus,” Tim tells them, his tone still matter-of-fact, his expression confident. “And then three years ago, I saw Robin perform a quadruple somersault. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Robin was Dick. And it was all over the news when Mr. Wayne took in Dick, so it wasn’t hard to conclude from there that Mr. Wayne is Batman. The kind of gear Batman has, he has to be well funded. Very well funded. I’m surprised that more people haven’t figured it out.”

“You’re wrong!” Jason shouts, nearly vibrating in anger. Clark’s arms are very clearly the only things holding him back.

“I’m not,” Tim says, his tone still matter-of-fact. Dick can tell he’s utterly certain; they won’t be able to convince him otherwise. Clark sighs, whispering something to Jason too quietly for Dick to hear. Jason seems to calm down a bit, nodding, and Clark lets him go. Given Jason’s temper, Dick wonders if Clark isn’t being too optimistic.

Dick focuses on what’s important: convincing Tim to stay quiet. “You can’t say anything, to anyone,” Dick tells him seriously, trying to keep his own voice calm.

“I already said I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tim replies. He seems a bit confused. “I wouldn’t have said anything unless I was sure you all knew. You can trust me.” He turns to Clark, looking at him imploringly. “I promise.”

Clark looks back at Tim, before nodding: “What gave me away?”

“Just now, you tilted your head when you listened to hear if Mr. Wayne is still sleeping. Can you hear his heartbeat from here?” Tim asks curiously.

Clark blushes a bit. “That’s it?” he queries back, not answering Tim’s question.

“You always show up when Lombard and his friends are bothering me at the library, even if you’re nowhere nearby,” Tim responds. “That one time, when I left you at the circulation desk to go gets some snacks from the vending machine? You pretty much appeared from thin air when Lombard cornered me. And you always seemed to know exactly what they said to me, no matter how far away you were.”

Clark sighs, nodding. He seems unsettled. Dick looks at Jason briefly; he’s scowling at Tim but is otherwise staying out of it, at least for now.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Tim says. “And I can help! Don’t make me go home…” He trails off, looking dejected.

“Of course not,” Clark reassures him, walking around the island and opening his arms for a hug. Tim jumps from his stool, basically throwing his full weight onto Clark; Clark catches him effortlessly. “That was very clever,” Clark says. “Maybe you can give me some tips to hide my hearing better?”

Tim nods his head frantically, hugging Clark tight around his neck. “And your other abilities too?” Dick can just barely hear him whisper.

Clark gives Dick a rueful smile over Tim’s shoulder. “Those too. But we can talk more about this later. It’s Christmas. And it sounds like Bruce is waking up now. Why don’t we wait for him and Alfred in the parlor with the Christmas tree?” Clark puts Tim down gently, ruffling his hair with a smile when Tim nods up at him. Clark gently guides Tim out of the kitchen.

Dick puts his plate in the sink, sighing heavily as he thinks about the conversation he’s going to have to have with Bruce later. It’s going to be a nightmare. He wonders if he should go wake up Bruce now and tell him immediately, but he decides against it. As long as Tim is at the Manor, he won’t have a chance to tell anyone else. Besides, the kid did seem genuine when he promised Clark that he wouldn’t say anything, and if he’s being honest that he’s known for three years already, another few hours isn’t going to hurt anything.

Dick notices that Jason puts the last few pancakes on a tray, along with a mug of coffee. When Dick shoots him a curious look, he hunches his shoulders and mumbles that it’s for Bruce. Dick nods and smiles, but doesn’t say anything. No need to embarrass Jason for doing something nice. And it can’t hurt to try to put Bruce in a good mood.

They shuffle over to the blue parlor, settling on the overstuffed leather sofas. Clark and Tim are already seated, Tim practically glued to Clark’s side, so Dick sits down on the other sofa. Jason puts the tray on the coffee table, a cover over the plate to keep the pancakes warm, and then sits next to Dick.

Dick looks up at the Christmas tree; it’s perfectly decorated, as always. Bruce hires a designer every year to decorate it. And of course there are piles and piles of presents under the tree. Dick glances at Tim, wondering if they should put off opening gifts until after Tim leaves; it seems cruel to make him watch everyone else open gifts.

“It’s okay,” Tim tells him, when he catches Dick looking at him (apparently not as subtly as he thought). “You should open your presents. I already opened the ones my parents left me.”

“Did you get the new computer you wanted?” Clark asks him.

Tim nods. “You can have my laptop,” he says. “That way you don’t have to use the ones at the library all the time.”

Jason snorts, and they all look at him. “What? Don’t tell me he doesn’t remind you of Bruce,” he says defensively.

Tim smiles at him, clearly pleased. Jason looks baffled; he probably meant to insult Tim, but it’s clear the kid took it as a compliment. Just as Jason opens his mouth – probably to be more explicitly insulting – Bruce walks into the room with Alfred, wishing them all a good morning and a merry Christmas.

After they exchange greetings, Jason picks up the tray from the coffee table and hands it to Bruce with what sounds like another mumbled “Merry Christmas.” Bruce glances down at the tray, thanking Jason with a smile before settling in one of the recliners. Jason sits back down, and he tries to hide his smile when Bruce drinks the coffee with a content sigh. Dick doesn’t comment.

“Master Jason, Master Dick,” Alfred says, handing them each a stack of gifts. Jason seems a little surprised at the number, but Dick accepts his with a thanks and a smile, used to Bruce’s excesses by now. There are still a lot of presents under the tree, and Alfred goes back for more. “Master Clark,” he says, handing Clark his own stacks of gifts.

“Thank you,” Clark says, looking surprised as he takes the presents from Alfred. “You didn’t – you didn’t need to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.” He looks at Bruce with an earnest expression on his face.

“It’s Christmas,” Bruce responds, gazing back at Clark with a fond smile playing across his lips. Meanwhile, Alfred goes back for yet more presents, this time handing a stack to Tim.

“Oh…” Tim says. “For me?” his voice is small.

“Merry Christmas,” Bruce tells him with a smile. Tim smiles back tentatively, something like wonder in his eyes as he looks at Bruce. Clark shoots Bruce a look of gratitude, before he gently jostles Tim.

“See, I told you that you’d be welcome,” Clark fake whispers with a fond smile. Tim lets out a giggle, before cutting himself off, his eyes going wide. He shoots Dick and Jason a look, seemingly self-conscious. Dick smiles back at him reassuringly, before turning to start opening his gifts. Jason just ignores him, already ripping the wrapping paper from his own presents.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, handing him a small pile of presents once Bruce has finished his coffee and pancakes and put the tray to the side. Dick knows that the remaining gifts under the tree are most likely for Alfred, though for as long as Dick has lived at the Manor, Alfred’s never opened them where Dick could see.

“I… um, one second,” Clark says, putting his gifts to the side and going behind the tree. He comes out holding five gift bags, which he hands out: one to each of them. Dick sets aside his other presents and reaches into his bag. He pulls out a little plate of cookies, wrapped in clear cellophane with a ribbon, and an envelope. He opens the envelope: there’s a stack of little pieces of paper instead. Dick looks at Clark curiously. “They’re coupons,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I mean, not for a store or anything. For me.”

Dick looks at the top “coupon.” It says, in big font: “Answers to 10 Questions,” and underneath, in smaller font: “Non-Transferable, Redeemable After Christmas, Does Not Expire.”

Just what he wanted.

Chapter Text

After they finish opening presents, Dick pulls Bruce aside. “Tim knows. About Batman and Robin, and Clark’s abilities,” he says, watching as Bruce’s expression goes blank.

“How?” Bruce asks. Dick repeats Tim’s explanation. Bruce sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a risk, but I really don’t think he’ll tell anyone,” Dick says, after a few beats of silence. “He really seems to look up to you. And he obviously adores Clark.”

“Evidence suggests that Clark has the unique ability to inspire people to be very loyal, very quickly,” Bruce says in response, almost absent-mindedly. He sighs again. “I’ll have to talk with Tim.”

“Bruce…” Dick trails off, wanting to encourage Bruce to be gentle with the kid but not quite sure how to say that.

“I’m not going to intimidate or threaten him,” Bruce tells him, clearly anticipating what Dick is going to say. He seems a bit offended. “He’s a kid. I just need to get a better grasp of his thought processes, and make sure he understands how important it is that he keeps this all a secret.” Dick nods, relieved. He’s also somewhat surprised: telling Bruce went a lot better than he expected. “Spend more time with him,” Bruce says. “Be nice. The more he likes us, the less likely he’ll be to talk.”

Dick doesn’t bother disagreeing with Bruce. Tim is clearly very intelligent; even more clearly, he’s lonely. Dick can’t imagine he’ll have much in common with Tim, but he never planned to be anything but nice to the kid. It seems manipulative to be nice with a purpose, but Dick doesn’t see any other options.

Bruce says he needs to go down to the Cave for a few hours, and Dick leaves him to it. He checks the library and the theater, and both are empty. Alfred is in the kitchen, but no Clark, Jason, or Tim. “I believe Master Clark convinced Master Jason and Mr. Drake to go outside,” Alfred tells him. “There was some talk of a ‘snow day.’” Dick texts Clark and – yes, they’re on the west lawn. He bundles up, and then trudges through ankle-deep snow to join them.

When Dick reaches them, Clark and Tim are talking about building a snowman. Jason is arguing for a snowball fight instead, a glint in his eyes as he glances at Tim. Dick cuts that off right away. “Why don’t we go sledding?” Dick suggests. “The hill off the east lawn is perfect for it, and I’m sure we have a few sleds in the garage.” Clark agrees with a smile, and that’s all it takes to convince Tim.

Jason shrugs: “At least it’s better than building a snowman like a little kid,” he says.

Tim looks at Jason uncertainly, but he smiles when Clark says: “I don’t think you’re ever too big to build a snowman. My Pa and I used to compete to see who could build a bigger one, and he was in his fifties.” Clark’s smile turns wistful for a second, before he turns his normal sunshine grin on Jason. “Why don’t you and I go look for the sleds, huh?” Jason agrees immediately, grabbing Clark by the arm and tugging him towards the house. Clark lets himself be pulled.

When Tim says that he can help too, stepping forward to follow them, Clark shakes his head and gently suggests that Tim go with Dick to look for the perfect spot to go sledding. Then Clark and Jason trudge off; Dick figures that Clark wants some time to speak with Jason alone. So Dick gestures for Tim to follow him around the Mansion to the east lawn. He tries to think of something to talk about while they walk. “So… uh, what were you looking for Clark for, last weekend?” he asks.

Tim bites his lip and shrugs, looking down and kicking at the snow. Dick isn’t sure if he’s blushing, or if his cheeks are just turning a bit red from the cold. “Clark’s usually at the library every Sunday,” he tells Dick. “And then he wasn’t there two Sundays in a row.”

Dick isn’t sure what to say to that. “I told him you were looking for him. I mean – I didn’t know your name, but I did tell him,” he replies.

“Clark told me,” Tim says. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you up.” He sticks his gloves in the pockets of his coat, hunching his shoulders. He kicks at the snow again. Dick tells him it’s fine.

“Did you – did you like your presents?” he asks Tim. Dick didn’t see all the gifts that Tim opened from Bruce, but he thinks there were a few video games, and maybe a book or two. Tim nods, smiling. Before Dick can ask Tim about what was in the bag that Clark gave him, Clark and Jason call out from behind them, each carrying a sled. Dick turns around, waving them over. He notices that Jason looks much more relaxed. He might actually be smiling a little. Dick wonders what he and Clark talked about, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask. Clark hands the sled he’s holding to Tim, helping him get on and then gently pushing him down the hill. Jason follows on his own sled, whooping all the way down.

They take turns sledding for the next few hours, sliding down the hill and then hiking back up, over and over. “Ready to head inside?” Clark asks them, when it starts to snow again. It’s coming down pretty hard. They all agree and start plodding through the snow towards the Manor. By the time they reach it, Dick and Jason and Tim are all breathing heavy from sledding for hours and then walking through the snow, cheeks red from the cold. Clark’s rosy-cheeked as well, but that’s his normal complexion; he’s breathing normally, and the cold and the wind and the wet snow don’t seem to bother him at all.

They enter through the garage, taking off their wet coats and boots and scarves and gloves before they enter the Manor. Alfred makes them all sit by the fire in the blue parlor, and then he brings them hot cocoa. Dick may doze for a while, exhausted yet happy; it’s warm by the fire, and the overstuffed sofa is just too comfortable.

Later, dinner is – dinner is great. Alfred’s food is excellent, as always, and their conversation is kept light. Comfortable. Jason is clearly more relaxed than the previous night. If he isn’t smiling, at least he isn’t glaring or scowling. And even Tim is piping up here and there; Clark seems to be making a concerted effort to encourage him to talk a bit more. (Dick tries to ignore the way that Clark occasionally looks at Bruce when he thinks that Bruce isn't looking. Bruce doesn't even bother to be subtle, smiling encouragingly every time he catches Clark's looking at him, and laughing at all of Clark's jokes - even the ones that aren't particularly funny.)

After dinner, Clark tentatively suggests they watch A Christmas Story; he tells them with a wistful smile that it was his Ma’s favorite, and that they used to watch it every Christmas after dinner. That cuts off any objections, and they all shuffle over to the theater, Dick and Jason groaning a bit at their overfull bellies. (Maybe they ate a little too much, but Alfred’s food was even more delicious than usual tonight.)

It’s pretty late by the time the movie is over. Dick notices that Tim is barely awake, leaning heavily against Clark and yawning. Clark smiles at him fondly, before saying that he’ll walk Tim home. Before they can even get up, Bruce invites Tim to stay in one of the guest rooms overnight. Dick watches as Tim looks up at Clark, clearly uncertain; he agrees with a sleepy smile when Clark nods at him encouragingly.

Alfred offers to show Tim the guest room. “Thanks,” Tim replies, somewhat shyly, still leaning heavily against Clark. “Why don’t I come too?” Clark offers. “On the way, I can show you the room where I’m staying.” The three of them say goodnight and leave the theater together.

“Die Hard?” Jason asks with a cheeky grin. Bruce barks out a laugh in response.

“Sure, Jaylad,” he responds, settling back down into his seat. “It’s still Christmas, after all.” But just barely; it’s a quarter before midnight. Dick says his goodnights to Bruce and Jason, mumbling that he’s going to bed as well. He goes upstairs to his room, brushing his teeth before changing into a comfortable pair of sweats and a soft long-sleeved shirt. He checks the time again; it’s after midnight. He turns his phone on silent, not wanting to be disturbed.

And then – rather than going to bed, Dick leaves his room, heading down the hall. He raps softly at Clark’s door. “Come in,” Clark calls from the other side. Dick opens the door and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “It’s after Christmas,” Dick says, pulling the coupon out of his pocket.

Dick has some questions.

Chapter Text

Clark gestures for Dick to sit down next to him on the edge of his bed, taking the coupon with a nervous smile. “I guess it is after Christmas,” he says, fiddling with the coupon. “You, um – you don’t have to use all ten questions tonight, if you don’t want to.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I have a lot more than ten questions,” he tells Clark. “And I guess this is the first one – but why did you give this to me?” He gestures to the coupon in Clark’s hands.

Clark sighs, putting the coupon down on his nightstand before turning to look Dick in the eyes. “I’m a bad liar. And I’m not very good at telling the truth, either. I’m trying to get better at that. I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, and that we’ve only really gotten to know each other better the last month or so, but I want to be a good friend to you. You already know my most important secret; what could you ask about that could ever measure up to that? And I – I didn’t have the money to buy everyone a gift, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to buy you anything that Bruce couldn’t. So…” Clark shrugs, looking a little embarrassed.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. I didn’t get you anything,” Dick tells him, feeling a little guilty for not asking Clark if they were exchanging gifts. He never buys any gifts for Bruce – it’s pointless, because Bruce can buy anything he wants. (And Clark is right - what do you get for the guy who has everything?) But Clark’s thoughtful gift – both the homemade cookies and the coupons, especially the one sitting on Clark’s nightstand now, promising Dick answers – make Dick feel bad for not even trying.

Clark shrugs again. “You’ve welcomed me into your home. I would be alone, if not for you,” he says. “I think that’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

Dick is touched, though he still feels bad for not even trying to get Clark something. “When’s your birthday?” he asks.

Clark laughs. “You’re going to use one of your questions for that? I would have told you anyway, if you just asked.”

Dick nods. He does have a lot of questions, but Clark isn’t a criminal – he doesn’t deserve to get grilled. (And a voice in the back of Dick’s head, which sounds suspiciously like Bruce, suggests that Clark might be more willing to give details if he’s in a relaxed mood first.)

“February 29th,” Clark tells him, then seems to hesitate. “Or at least – that’s the date my parents decided to celebrate as my birthday. What about you?”

“March 20th,” Dick replies. He pauses for a moment, considering which of his questions to ask first, and how. He decides to just go for it: “How do you know Luthor?”

“Softball’s over, huh?” Clark says, with a wry little smile.

“On the video – you called him Lex, not Luthor or Mr. Luthor,” Dick tells him. Clark grimaces, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Clark doesn’t respond immediately. Dick doesn’t push; he figures Clark may need some time to gather his thoughts. His patience pays off when Clark continues: “You know how I told you that I was hit by a car when I was 14?” Dick nods. “Lex – Luthor, I mean – he was driving. I hit the water, and I was fine, but he was still in the car. I pulled him out.”

Dick senses that there’s more to the story. He doesn’t say anything in response, waiting to see if Clark will fill the silence. (He tries not to think of times he watched Bruce use a similar tactic when interrogating criminals.)

Clark just sits there for a little while, shifting awkwardly. Clark glances at Dick’s face briefly, and then stares down at his lap, before continuing: “He was grateful. He bought me a truck. Ma said I should give it back. But the farm – we were struggling, and we really couldn’t afford to give it back. So I convinced Ma that she should have the new truck, and she gave me the old one. And for a while, it seemed that would be the end of it.” Dick notices that Clark doesn’t say anything about his Pa. He’s not sure exactly when or how he died – Clark’s never spoken of his passing in any detail. But it doesn’t sound like he was around when Clark met Luthor.

Clark doesn’t elaborate further. He’s still staring down at his lap. He’s wringing his hands so tightly that Dick imagines his knuckles would be white, if Clark were anyone else. Dick decides to help Clark along, even if he needs to use another question. “But it wasn’t the end, was it?” Dick asks.

Clark shakes his head. He swallows heavily, looking away. It seems as if he feels almost – guilty? “It wasn’t the end,” Clark agrees. “A few months after that, a woman showed up in Smallville claiming that she was my mother, and that Lex’s – Luthor’s father was my father. He was convinced we were brothers. I told him it was impossible. But I couldn’t explain why it was impossible. So he – took an interest. He started buying produce from the farm, and he insisted that I deliver it. He’d be there whenever I stopped by, and he’d ask me to play pool, or eat dinner, or just – talk. He asked me go with him to football games and concerts in Metropolis and – all sorts of things. And I agreed. I let him think we were brothers, even though I knew it wasn’t true.”

It is obvious that Clark feels guilty. Dick reaches out to grab his shoulder, not saying anything but trying to look encouraging. Clark sighs, leaning into his touch. Then he continues: “I was lonely,” he confesses. “I didn’t – I didn’t have any friends. I could never trust anyone enough to be their friend, or let them be mine. He told me that I could tell him anything; that he would always be there for me; that I could trust him with anything. But I didn’t trust him. Not enough to tell him my secret, even though I knew he suspected something was different about me. Even though he was trying so hard to be the big brother I’d never had…” Clark trails off.

“But you weren’t actually brothers,” Dick finishes. He pats Clark’s shoulder; Clark turns into his touch, clearly seeking Dick’s reassurance.

Dick doesn’t say so, but he’s pretty sure that Luthor isn’t the type to accept a surprise half-brother without a thorough investigation and hard proof – especially with Luthor’s father dead, and Luthor having inherited everything. He wonders if Luthor acted like he believed he and Clark were brothers, knowing they weren’t, just to get closer to Clark. (He has a strong suspicion the answer is “yes,” and also that Clark won’t believe him without evidence.)

“We weren’t actually brothers,” Clark agrees. “But he thought he were for a while. And even after he knew that we weren’t, he – he said that he liked me, and that we could still be friends. And we sort of were, for a while. But the way he looked at me… it started to change. Or maybe I just got better at using my senses to read people? I’m not sure. And then when Ma… he offered to take me in, after. But I could sense – I knew by then that he was attracted to me.” Clark pauses for a moment. Dick is angry at the thought of Luthor even looking at Clark like that, especially right after Clark’s mother died. “I told him no. I was almost 18, so I filed to be emancipated, and the court granted it. And then I left Smallville as soon as I graduated, and I hadn’t seen him since.”

“Until brunch,” Dick says. “What did Bruce and Luthor say to each other?”

Clark blushes, embarrassed. He pulls away from Dick’s hand on his shoulder, bringing his legs up onto the bed and hugging his knees. He doesn’t look at Dick; instead, he stares almost blankly at the wall as he answers: “Luthor said he saw that article about you and Bruce fighting over me, but he didn’t believe it until he saw us together. He said – all sorts of awful things, about me having… certain issues. Bruce played dumb, hamming it up with his Brucie act. And then Luthor called me a whore. And then Bruce said that Luthor might have to pay to get people to spend time with him, but Bruce certainly didn’t. That’s when Le-Luthor tried to hit him.” Clark rests his chin on his knees.

They sit in silence for a while. Dick shuffles closer, opening his arms to offer a hug. Clark immediately uncurls and falls into him, hugging him (gently, always so gently) and burying his face in Dick’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when you and Jason asked, but Jason – I know Jason looks up to me, and I don’t want to disappoint him,” Clark whispers into his shoulder, so low Dick can barely hear him.

“You didn’t – you couldn’t,” Dick assures him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Luthor’s scum.” The kind of scum who preys on a lonely teenage boy. (A lonely teenage boy who lost his father, and then his mother.) No wonder Bruce hit him. Dick is actually almost impressed with Bruce’s restraint; he’s not sure he would have been able to hold back.

Clark pulls back a bit. “I took advantage of him,” he says, shamefaced. “I knew we weren’t brothers, and I should have said no to everything. Ma – Ma tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen.”

Clark is clearly tied up in knots over this. Dick pulls Clark back in, and Clark lets himself be moved, putting his head back on Dick’s shoulder. Dick hugs him tight, reaching up to card his fingers through Clark’s hair. Clark shudders, leaning into him more heavily.

And Dick can’t help himself; he has to share his suspicions: “Luthor wouldn’t just believe that you were his brother, not without proof. A brother could challenge his inheritance. If he really thought you were his brother, he’d be more likely to hire a hitman to get rid of you than to play big brother.” Clark shakes his head, immediately defending Luthor. Dick sighs. He was right earlier: Clark isn’t going to believe him without evidence. Dick keeps hugging Clark until Clark eventually pulls back, swiping at his eyes.

“What’s your next question?” he asks with a weak smile.

“You said I didn’t have to ask them all tonight, so I’ll save the rest for later,” Dick replies, encouraging Clark to lie down and rest.

“I don’t have to sleep,” Clark protests, even as he curls up on his side.

“I do,” Dick replies. “We can talk again another time.” Dick knows that Clark physically doesn’t need as much sleep, but he can also tell that Clark is emotionally drained. They say goodnight, and Dick returns to his room.

Dick’s exhausted, but his mind is racing; he falls into a fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up late the next day, still exhausted. The Manor is quiet. He checks his phone: Babs texted him to remind him that she’s planning to drive over later that afternoon, and Clark texted him a few hours ago that he’s taking Tim home and is going to run a few errands. Dick texts Clark back, reminding him that Babs is coming to visit later. Clark texts back almost immediately, asking Dick to let him know when Babs is there.

Dick goes to the kitchen. He makes some coffee, eating a bowl of cereal and checking social media while he waits for it to brew. Bruce’s fight with Lex is still trending; and it looks like the Twitter detectives have been hard at work; it seems they’ve analyzed every article ever mentioning both Bruce and Lex, every photo where they’re both in the frame. Dick is pleased to see that #Team Bruce is much more popular than #Team Lex.

There’s also all sorts of speculation about Clark: how he knows Bruce and Lex; how he got to be Dick’s roommate; that he’s at Gotham University on a Wayne Foundation scholarship. Some tweets call him a gold digger; some even accuse him of winning the scholarship on his back. Clark has his defenders too; it seems many people “ship” him with Bruce or Lex, and they’ve even been given portmanteaus.

Both #Blark and #Clex are trending.

Dick scrolls through the top #Blark tweets as he shovels cereal into his mouth. Bruce is a magnet for photographers, both paparazzi and casual fans alike. There are tons of photos of Bruce and Clark together during what seems to be the morning before the fight: Bruce helping Clark out of the limo; Bruce holding the door open for Clark at his favorite tailor’s shop; Bruce and Clark at the restaurant. In many of them, Bruce is smiling gently at Clark, and Clark is beaming back at him. It looks like they were on a date, not a surveillance op.

Dick switches over to the #Clex tweets. There are fewer of them, but it looks like people dug up a few photos of Luthor “and friend” at various events in Metropolis, going back a few years, and there’s a debate going over whether the “friend” in the photos is Clark. It is, although he looks different (younger), all floppy hair and lanky limbs and big hands, like a puppy that hasn’t grown into his paws yet. (Dick notices that the way Luthor looks at Clark in the photos isn’t particularly friendly, let alone brotherly.)

Dick finishes his cereal, and gulps down his coffee, leaving the kitchen. Jason is reading quietly by the fire in the library when Dick ducks his head in. He doesn’t respond to Dick’s greeting, so Dick keeps moving. He doesn’t see Bruce or Alfred in any of the most-used areas of the Manor, so he heads down to the Cave. He finds Bruce there, sitting in front of the main monitor in his training clothes. “Did you know?” Dick asks Bruce. Bruce sighs, minimizing the screen and swiveling his chair to face Dick.

“Know what?” he asks calmly.

“Did you know about Luthor and Clark?” Dick says.

Bruce nods. “I told you – I investigated Clark when he was assigned as your roommate,” he says. Dick doesn’t bother asking Bruce why he didn’t tell Dick about Luthor’s interest in Clark; Bruce has never been good at sharing.

“How did you stop yourself from putting him in the hospital?” Dick asks.

“Years of self-control,” Bruce tells him, and then he smirks. It draws Dick’s attention to the bruise that Luthor gave him. Bruce has quite the shiner; either he wore make-up yesterday to hide it, or it got worse overnight. “And the knowledge that I’m going to hit him where it really hurts.”

Dick thinks for a moment. “Business?” he queries.

“Business,” Bruce agrees. Dick nods, satisfied. He turns to Bruce’s workbench, curious what Bruce is working on. It looks like he’s disassembling a grappling gun, and he has sketches for various other gizmos and gadgets that he’s probably considering for development. Dick even notices a (very) small plane of some sort taking up space in the corner, all clean lines and gleaming silver. A prototype of some sort, perhaps?

He turns to ask Bruce, but he's not at the computer anymore. It looks like he moved to the training area while Dick was distracted, and he’s wrapping his hands. When Bruce sees that Dick is watching him, he asks him to spar. Dick readily agrees, thoughts of Bruce’s research projects slipping from his mind.

Bruce wipes the floor with him, over and over (and over) again. Although he’s still in great shape for a normal person, sparring with Bruce has make it clear that Dick has fallen out of fighting shape since he stopped being Robin. Bruce pins him down yet again, and Dick taps out. He’s still groaning, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling of the Cave, when Babs walks down the stairs.

How embarrassing.

Bruce steps away, unwinding the tape from his hands as Babs and Bruce exchange greetings. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick sees Bruce leave the training area. “Got your ass kicked, huh, hotshot?” Babs asks him with a smirk, looming over him where he’s still splayed on the mats.

He just groans again, and she reaches down to help him to his feet. “I’m going to be one big bruise,” he complains, before gulping down some water and grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. Babs waits as Dick takes a quick shower and gets changed into clean clothes, and then they walk upstairs together.

Alfred brings them hot cocoa and brownies in the blue parlor, greeting Babs warmly. She thanks him, complimenting him on the Christmas decorations and then, after she takes her first bite of brownie, on his baking. “I am afraid I cannot take credit,” Alfred tells her. “Master Clark baked the brownies this morning, in anticipation of your visit.” Shit. Clark. Dick pulls his phone out, texting him that Babs has arrived. Clark texts him back that he’ll be there soon.

Babs turns to Dick once Alfred has left the room. “Clark’s too nice. I’m going to steal him,” she says with a cheeky smile.

Dick snorts. “Get in line,” he mutters.

“Behind Bruce and Luthor?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Dick shrugs. He tells her that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it; it’s Clark’s story to tell. Babs lets it drop, and their conversation turns instead to other topics. Dick tells her all about Tim.

“Wow,” she says, looking impressed. “He figured you guys out when he was nine?”

Dick winces, nodding. “But he seems like a good kid,” he says. “He’s already kept it a secret for three years. And he really looks up to Clark.”

“What does Clark have to do with it?” Babs asks. Oh shit. Dick forgot that she didn’t know about any of Clark’s abilities, or his origin. He fumbles, trying to redirect her attention. She just laughs at him. “Keep your secrets,” she says, shaking her head. “But you suck at lying, by the way.”

“Only to people I like?” he replies, trying on his winning smile. It doesn’t work on Babs, of course. But she still changes the subject.

“Did Bruce go way overboard with gifts again this year?” Babs asks with a smile, grabbing another brownie.

“Doesn’t he always?” Dick replies with a shrug. He tries to give Babs his full attention, but he can't stop thinking about the way Luthor was looking at Clark in the photos. He hopes Bruce bankrupts the asshole.

“Okay, something’s up,” she tells him. “What? Did you and Bruce get into another fight?”

“No. Bruce and I are fine, mostly,” he says. He can’t tell her about Luthor, which is what’s bothering him the most. But there is something else bothering him: “I – um, I didn’t know that Clark and I were exchanging gifts, and I didn’t get him anything.”

Babs slaps his shoulder and calls him an idiot. Dick winces – both at her tone and her slap (lighter than it could have been, but hard enough to hurt, especially given how sore he is after sparring with Bruce). “What do I do?” he asks her.

“Apologize?” she suggests, like that should be obvious.

“I did!” Dick says, and then realizes that isn’t true. He talked about it with Clark last night, but he doesn’t remember actually apologizing. “Okay, maybe I didn’t.”

“Then apologize, and try to be more thoughtful next time,” Babs tells him. Dick nods. They chat for a while longer, and then Clark sticks his head in the door, asking if he can join them. Babs gets up to hug him and pull him into the room. Clark smiles at her, allowing himself to be moved.

“One moment,” Clark tells her, going behind the tree and coming back with a gift bag, which he hands to Babs. She thanks him, and then reaches into her gigantic bag and pulls out a box, wrapped prettily with a ribbon. Clark beams at her when she hands it to him. Dick sits there somewhat awkwardly as they open their gifts. Clark starts to carefully remove the ribbon, while Babs reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a comic, covered in plastic. Dick can’t see the cover, but Babs looks stunned.

“You said you were having trouble finding it,” Clark tells her, looking somewhat anxious. Babs carefully puts the comic back in the gift bag, gets up, and pulls Clark into another hug. Clark hugs her back gently. When she pulls back, she grins up at Clark and tells him: “I told you that I’ve been searching for months. I can’t believe you remembered, or that you found it. It’s perfect.”

Clark blushes and ducks his head. They take their seats again, and Clark carefully peels bag the wrapping paper. He opens the box, and pulls out a red scarf and matching hat. “I thought you could do with a little color in your wardrobe,” Babs tells him with a teasing smile. Clark thanks her, pulling her into yet another hug.

“I love it,” Clark tells her. He seems genuine, even though Dick knows he doesn’t feel the cold (and therefore doesn’t really need them).

They put their gifts aside and chat for a while, until Tim pokes his head in. Clark waves him over and introducing Tim to Babs. “Why didn’t you text me?” Clark asks Tim. “I would have walked with you.”

“Alfred picked me up,” Tim tells him. “Bruce called my parents today and convinced them to let me stay here until they get back.” Clark smiles, but before he can say anything in response, Jason steps into the room to tell them that dinner is ready. They all walk over to the small dining room.

“Did you redecorate?” Babs asks, looking around as they sit down for dinner.

“Something like that,” Bruce agrees. Jason snorts, and Babs shoots him a curious look. Clark distracts her by asking about her plans for New Year’s Eve, and the rest of dinner passes smoothly.

Babs leaves after dinner, but only after Clark presses a container of brownies into her hands. “If you tell me you can cook too, I’m going to steal you,” Babs tells Clark teasingly.

“I cook too?” he says, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“That’s it. I’m stealing him,” Babs announces, hugging Clark and turning her head to look at Bruce.

“You can try,” Bruce tells her, his eyes meeting Clark’s over her shoulder. “But I think Clark likes it here.” Clark smiles in response, his blush deepening as he continues to hold Bruce’s gaze.

“Yeah, and we like having him here,” Jason interjects, drawing their attention.

“Oh well,” Babs says, letting Clark go and turning to ruffle Jason’s hair, even though he’s taller than she is. “Maybe I’ll steal you instead? I heard that Clark is teaching you all his tricks in the kitchen!”

It is Jason’s turn to blush, and the rest of them laugh as he scowls and mutters that it isn’t that funny.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Dick drags himself out of bed early, doing his best to ignore the various bruises and aches from sparring with Bruce the day before. After a bowl of cereal and a lot of coffee, he borrows the Mustang to run a quick errand. When he gets back, he asks Alfred for some wrapping paper and tape. About an hour (and much frustration) later, he knocks on Clark’s door, carrying a large box, wrapped in Santa-themed paper and about half a roll of tape.

Dick is met with Clark’s bare back when he enters the room. “Back for round two?” Clark asks him wryly, gesturing to the coupon still on his nightstand before he pulls on a red sweater.

“No,” Dick responds, tearing his eyes away from Clark to put the box on Clark’s bed. “I didn’t apologize to you before for not getting you anything for Christmas. So – I’m sorry. And here.” He pats the box.

Clark turns to face him. “I told you that you didn’t have to get me anything,” Clark tells him, but he still picks up the present with a smile. “And you don’t have anything to apologize for – I should have asked instead of assuming that we would exchange gifts.”

“Forgive me anyway,” Dick says, with his best charming smile. It apparently works a bit better on Clark than it does on Babs, because Clark smiles again and says that he forgives him. Dick watches as Clark carefully peels back the tape and the wrapping paper, revealing a cardboard box. Clark opens the box, tilting his head curiously.

“Graphite?” he asks, picking up a block from the top. Dick nods. It’s the purest graphite Dick could find on such short notice.

“And a promise to help you sell any diamonds you make,” Dick says. Clark thanks him, putting the box to the side and pulling Dick into a quick hug. “I’m not sure I’ll make any more diamonds. It feels a bit like cheating. But I really appreciate the thought,” Clark assures him, as if concerned that he might seem ungrateful.

“It’s up to you,” Dick tells him with a shrug. “But I just want you to know that you don’t have to rely on anyone for anything, not if you don’t want to.”

By “anyone,” Dick of course means Bruce. If Bruce and Clark are going to be Bruce and Clark (and as much as a part of Dick wishes otherwise, he’s pretty sure after the last few days that it’s just a matter of time at this point), Dick wants to make sure Clark doesn’t ever feel trapped. Dick knows, after all, just how overwhelming (all-consuming) Bruce can be.

Clark thanks him again, before walking away to put the box in the bottom of the closet. Before Clark closes the closet door, Dick notices with some surprise that the closet is nearly half-full, in what appears to be a mix of suits and casual clothes. He thinks about asking, but isn’t sure that would be a good use of one of his questions.

Clark sits back down. He fiddles a bit with his hands before he takes a deep breath. “I – um, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Clark tells him, patting the bed next to him in a gesture for Dick to sit. “I’m going to lunch with Bruce tomorrow. For surveillance. And backup, if necessary.”

“Backup,” Dick repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s still not sure who hired the hit before Thanksgiving,” Clark tells him. “He has a few leads; nothing concrete.”

“That’s what brunch on Saturday was about,” Dick says, more than asks. His mind races. “Surveillance, with a side of Bruce acting as bait.”

Clark nods. “The restaurant is a favorite of one of the potential suspects, and we knew that he would be there that morning. L-Luthor interrupted, but not before I heard a few things that suggest we might be on the right track. We’re going back to the same place tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good idea, considering what happened on Saturday,” Dick tells him. “I’m sure you’ve seen the reaction on social media.”

Clark looks at him curiously. “I read articles about the fight in the Gotham Gazette and a few other papers. It didn’t seem bad, as far as Brucie goes.”

“You’re trending on Twitter,” Dick says. Clark looks at him blankly. Dick starts to fumble to explain. He trails off when Clark starts to laugh.

“Relax. I’m just messing with you,” Clark tells him with a mischievous grin.

Dick narrows his eyes. “You aren’t as innocent as you look,” he mutters, somewhat accusingly.

Clark’s expression turns serious. “I’m not blind to how the world works, Dick,” he says. “I hear and see too much for that. I just – try to look on the bright side, and do the best I can. So yes, I’ve seen the reaction on social media. And no, I’m not exactly thrilled about my 15 minutes of fame. But Bruce asked for my help. Besides,” he continues, his mischievous grin making another appearance. “No one is going to suspect that Bruce Wayne and his flavor of the week are running a surveillance op. Or that said flavor of the week can listen to conversations and see into places from a room away - without planting surveillance equipment.”

“You two made it look like a date on purpose,” Dick guesses, thinking back at the photos from Saturday with new eyes. Clark shrugs, explaining that it’s a convenient cover. Dick sighs. “Are you really okay with all of this? With being known as Bruce’s boytoy? He’s a Wayne – they built Gotham; no matter how ridiculous Bruce acts, society’s doors will always be open to him. But that’s not necessarily the case for the people he… dates.”

“I want to help people. I know I’m not Batman. Or Robin. But whoever hired Deadshot to kill Bruce is dangerous, and I can help catch him. If that means I have to deal with some rumors, even vicious rumors, it’s a small price to pay,” Clark explains earnestly.

Dick doesn’t respond. He’s pretty sure Clark’s mind is made up, and he won’t be able to change it. After a brief, somewhat uncomfortable silence, Clark tells Dick that he promised Jason and Tim that they could go sledding again this afternoon, and asks if he’d like to join them.

“I’m taking a hot shower, and then I’m going back to sleep,” Dick tells him. “I sparred with Bruce yesterday afternoon – and he did not take it easy on me.”

“Next time,” Clark says, patting him gently on the shoulder before they go their separate ways.

Thirty minutes and a hot shower later, Dick collapses into bed with a groan. He wakes up what feels like five minutes later to Jason banging on his door and yelling that dinner is almost ready. “Coming,” Dick shouts back, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Everyone is already sitting at the table when Dick gets downstairs. Jason and Tim are squabbling; Clark is trying to mediate; and Bruce is watching them all with a fond smile. Dick sits down, and Alfred brings the food out before joining them at the table.

Dick thinks he could get used to this. (He would still prefer for Bruce to stop eyeing Clark, but he’s working on that whole “serenity to accept the things I cannot change” thing.)

Chapter Text

The next day, Dick heads down to the Cave after breakfast. He may never be Robin again, but he’s sure he’s not done with the cape entirely; he wants to get back into fighting shape. He stops, startled, when he gets halfway down the stairs. He’s shocked to see that Bruce is already awake; he’s even more shocked to see Tim standing next to him in front of the computer.

“Good morning,” Dick says. They mumble greetings back to him, too absorbed in whatever they’re doing take their eyes off the screen. Dick walks to the training room to find Clark and Jason sparring. Jason lunges for Clark; Clark dodges but doesn’t try to hit him back.

“Why don’t we take a break, Jay?” Clark asks. Jason nods, breathing heavily. Clark throws him a water bottle before walking over to Dick.

“Since when does Bruce let Tim down here?” Dick asks, gesturing to where the two are practically glued to the computer.

“Tim went exploring last night and figured out the clock mechanism,” Clark explains, shrugging. “He’s smart, and he wants to help.”

“The kid’s okay,” Jason adds. Dick pauses, unsure where Jason’s newfound equanimity towards Tim has come from. “What?” Jason asks defensively, when he catches Dick looking at him.

“Nothing,” Dick says with a small smile. It’s nice to see Jason welcoming – or at least, tolerating – Tim’s presence. “Did Clark wear you out, or are you up for another spar?” Jason agrees when Clark encourages him to go ahead, saying he’s happy to observe.

Dick and Jason spar for a while. Dick starts by just dodging Jason’s attacks, getting a feel for his style. Jason gets frustrated quickly, going from trying to punch Dick to lunging to tackle him. Dick dances out of the way, too quickly for Jason to catch him. The kid isn’t bad, but he’s only been training with Bruce a few months; Dick was Robin for years. Even with Dick not in top fighting shape, there’s no question who would win in a fair fight.

Jason gradually gets slower and slower, tiring himself out. After a while, Dick takes mercy of him, flipping backwards away from a high kick, and then bouncing forward to bring Jason to the ground and pin him. Jason struggles for a while, before eventually tapping out. It is harder to keep Jason pinned than Dick expected: even though Jason is three years younger, he is already about Dick’s height and a bit broader than him in the shoulders, though he hasn’t quite filled out his frame yet.

“Let’s see you try that with Clark,” Jason huffs, scowling, when Dick helps him up. Dick laughs, ruffling Jason’s hair before dodging yet another punch – this one half-hearted. Jason smoothes his hair down, still scowling.

“Well?” Dick asks, turning to Clark and raising his eyebrow. He knows there’s no way he’ll win, but he figures Clark will take it easy on him. Clark checks his phone briefly.

“Rain check?” he asks. “I need to go upstairs and get ready for lunch.”

“Rain check,” Dick agrees. Clark leaves Dick and Jason in the training area to walk over to Bruce and Tim. Bruce immediately turns to face Clark when he says his name. He shuts down the computer and begins to follow Clark as he walks upstairs. Before Bruce leaves, he warns Dick, Jason, and Tim to “behave,” and says that they’ll be back after lunch.

Jason heaves a deep sigh when Bruce and Clark disappear from view. “I’m never introducing Bruce to anyone I want to date. It’s embarrassing to have your dad steal your boyfriend,” he says pointedly, looking at Dick with a small smirk.

“Clark was never my boyfriend!” Dick tells him.

“You wanted him to be!” Jason says, still smirking.

“So did you!” Dick replies. Jason’s smirk is instantly replaced by a scowl.

“No, I didn’t!” he protests, perfunctorily swiping at Dick, who takes a step back to avoid the hit.

“Yes, you did!” Dick insists. Their argument quickly devolves into another sparring match, until they’re both disgustingly sweaty and too exhausted to fight anymore.

Dick walks back into the main area of the Cave after a quick shower to find Tim sitting quietly at one of Bruce’s worktables, looking at some blueprints. “What’s that?” Dick asks him. Tim jumps, obviously startled. Dick apologizes for scaring him, before asking about the blueprints.

“They’re blueprints,” Tim tells him, looking from the papers in his hand to Dick as if he’s not sure if it’s a serious question.

“I can see that,” Dick says with a laugh. “What kind of blueprints?”

“For a house,” Tim replies, shrugging. “It looks like Bruce commissioned several architects to provide blueprints for a house made almost entirely of glass?”

“Huh,” Dick responds. It’s a little odd that they’d be mixed in with the research and development in the Cave. And why would Bruce build a glass house? “Is it a greenhouse?” he wonders.

“No,” Tim tells him. “It looks like a regular house, except it’s made of glass.”

Jason walks over, towel drying his hair. “Bruce and Alfred were talking about that last week,” he says. “Bruce decided to build a house next to the lake.” When Dick asks him about it, Jason just shrugs and says he doesn’t know anything more than that.

“Anything else interesting in development?” Dick asks. Jason and Tim point to a few things they find interesting. Dick walks over to another worktable, before remembering the plane he was going to ask Bruce about the other day. He looks for it, but he doesn’t see the prototype in the corner, or anywhere else in the main Cave.

Locked out of the computer, and done with training, the three of them eventually grow bored of the Cave. And hungry. They head to the kitchen for lunch.

“Oh,” Tim says, looking down at his phone. Dick puts his sandwich down and asks him what’s wrong. “I set an alert up for Clark. Someone took a photo of him and Bruce together.”

Jason peers over Tim’s shoulder at his screen. “What’s the big deal?” he asks. Tim holds his phone up so Jason can see. He scowls.

“What?” Dick asks, leaning in. Tim tilts the screen so Dick can see as well.

It’s a photo of Bruce and Clark walking into a restaurant together. Bruce is opening the door for Clark, ushering him in with a hand on the small of his back. He’s looking at Clark with what can only be described as adoration; Dick would say that Bruce is a great actor, except he’s seen Bruce look at Clark exactly like that before, here in the privacy of the Manor. Clark’s head is turned away from Bruce, because he’s waving at the paparazzi following them; he gives them a bright grin as he walks into the restaurant.

“Bruce is whipped,” Jason mutters, still scowling as he shakes his head.

“It’s just a surveillance op,” Dick tells them. Jason looks at him with disbelief. Dick doesn’t blame him; he doesn’t really believe it himself.

Tim scrolls through recent #Blark tweets, still tilting his phone so they can see the screen. The tweets seem mostly positive: people gushing over Clark, and how happy Bruce looks. A few of Bruce’s fans are trashing Clark, of course, but that happens in varying degrees to everyone Bruce is seen with in public.

It seems that a few fans are also eating lunch inside the same restaurant as Bruce and Clark, because new tweets keep popping up, with photos and play-by-plays of Bruce and Clark’s “date.” Dick, Jason, and Tim each lunch with their phones out, scrolling through recent tweets and showing each other whenever a photo or blurb seems particularly interesting. There are enough photos that Dick almost feels as if he’s sitting in the restaurant with them.

At some point, Jason shows them a photo of Bruce holding Clark’s hand over the table, smiling flirtatiously. Clark is ducking his head and blushing. Dick notices that Tim glances at it briefly, starts to turn back to his own phone, and then looks at it again. His expression seems thoughtful. Dick asks him what he finds so interesting.

“That’s the new President of Janus Cosmetics sitting a few tables behind them,” Tim tells them, pointing to a man about Bruce’s age in the corner of the photo. Dick squints, but he doesn’t recognize the man.

“So?” Jason snorts, pulling his phone back to continue scrolling. Tim just shrugs, looking back at his own phone. There are photos of Bruce and Clark talking, and eating, and laughing. And then, finally, a shot of Bruce and Clark leaving the restaurant, Clark shooting another smile and wave to the waiting paparazzi as Alfred opens the back door of the limo.

“They’ll be back soon,” Dick says, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket. They finish lunch, and then Tim helps Dick clean up. (Jason slips away when Dick isn’t paying attention, the brat.) Tim is sitting at the island on his phone, and Dick is searching the cabinets for any leftover Christmas cookies, when Clark walks into the kitchen and greets them.

He’s still in his outfit from lunch: a dark grey pinstripe suit tailored perfectly, a blue shirt underneath that makes his eyes seem so blue they nearly glow, and shiny black shoes that Dick guesses would give anyone else blisters. Clark beams at them.

“Did you guys have a good time while we were gone?” he asks them. Tim nods.

“How was surveillance?” Dick asks, unable to resist giving Clark a teasing smile.

“It was… good,” Clark answers, blushing a bit. “What are you looking for?” he asks, gesturing to the open cabinets.

“Are there any cookies left?” Dick asks, allowing Clark to change the subject. Clark shakes his head, offering to make more later that afternoon. Dick asks what he’s doing now.

“Bruce asked for my help in the Cave,” Clark tells him. “I just wanted to say hi before I go upstairs to get changed.”

“I can help?” Tim offers. Clark claps him on the back gently, thanking him for the offer, but says that he should relax a bit.

“It’s your winter break, after all,” Clark says with a smile. “You can help me bake cookies later, if you want?” Tim doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about that idea. “Or we can just hang out, okay?”

Tim nods, seemingly satisfied. Clark tilts his head a bit. “Jason’s reading in the library,” he says. “Why don’t you go join him?” Tim agrees, leaving Dick and Clark alone in the kitchen.

“Clark,” Dick calls, when Clark turns to follow Tim out the door. “I’d like to use the rest of my questions, later.”

“I had a feeling you might,” Clark says with a sigh.

“Tonight, then,” Dick tells him, and Clark nods, before leaving him alone in the kitchen. Dick is closing the cabinets when Alfred walks in.

“Is there something you need, Master Dick?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Something sweet, Alfie,” Dick tells him. And answers, of course. But he’ll settle for something sweet for now.

Chapter Text

It’s close to midnight when Dick shows up in Clark’s room with a plate of cookies and two mugs of milk. They just chat for a little while, on relatively easy topics like how Tim is settling into the Manor and that Jason seems to be warming up to him. But eventually, Dick can’t resist the urge to ask his questions.

“So…” he starts. “By my count, I used five questions last time.” Clark shrugs, replying that he trusts him. “I have a lot more than five questions,” he admits.

Clark smiles at him. “Dick – you don’t actually need a coupon to ask me questions. I can’t promise that I’ll always give you answers, but we can talk any time. The coupon was more… a tool.” Clark picks up the coupon still sitting on his nightstand and hands it back to Dick. The number “10” and “Redeemable After Christmas” are crossed out so the coupon now just reads: “Answers to Questions, Non-Transferable, Does Not Expire.”

“I’m a curious guy,” Dick warns him.

“I know,” Clark replies.

Dick decides to start with some topics unrelated to Bruce. (He thinks he knows the answer to the question of how Clark feels about Bruce. He’s still working to prepare himself to hear it.) “How did you meet that other extraterrestrial?”

“What?” Clark asks, clearly not expecting that question.

“A few weeks ago, you said during dinner that you met another extraterrestrial,” Dick reminds him. “I’d like to hear the story.”

“You can say alien, you know,” Clark tells him, flinching a little even as he says it, as if bracing himself for a blow. (One that can actually hurt him.) “I – I try very hard to be human, but I’m not. I know I’m not.”

“You’re one of the most human people I’ve ever known,” Dick assures him with a smile, reaching out to briefly clasp his shoulder. Clark smiles back at him, though it doesn’t seem quite so effortless as usual.

“My Pa died when I was 12,” Clark tells him. Dick isn’t sure how this relates to his question, but Clark doesn’t talk about his parents often, so he listens intently. “My hearing was… unreliable, back then. Sometimes it wasn’t that much better than it had been when I was younger. And other times I was so focused on sounds from three farms over that I didn’t hear when my Ma spoke right next to me. It would drive her crazy. As my hearing improved, I began to learn to recognize unique heartbeats.” Clark pauses, taking a deep breath. He brings the mug up to his mouth, as if to take a sip, although Dick knows that it’s been empty for a while now.

Dick doesn’t call him on it; he just nods encouragingly.

After a few moments, Clark continues: “My parents’ heartbeats were the first ones I learned. Whenever I got scared, or overwhelmed, or mad, I would listen for their heartbeats, and the rhythm would help me calm down. But one day, a few other boys were messing with me on the bus home from school, and I was trying so hard not to get mad, and when I focused my hearing – Ma’s heartbeat was still there, but Pa’s was just… gone.” Dick watches as Clark’s eyes turn glassy with unshed tears. “The next time the bus stopped, I got off, and I ran all the way home, right to the sound of my Ma’s heartbeat. I didn’t even care if anyone saw. Ma – Ma was baking a pie in the kitchen, humming to herself. She didn’t know. W-we found Pa facedown in the cornfield. Heart attack.”

Clark takes a deep, shaky breath. “I was so lost, without Pa. I was angry, at everyone and everything. Including Pa, because he died and left us all alone. Left me alone, when I needed him so much.” Clark blinks, and a few tears start to roll silently down his cheeks. He doesn’t acknowledge them at all, not even to wipe them away. “A couple times a week, I would run out to the cornfield where he died, and just – scream and curse and cry. And one day, a few months after Pa died, a man just – appeared out of nowhere, out there in the cornfield.”

“The... extraterrestrial?” Dick asks. Clark offers him a weak smile and a nod.

“Yeah. He told me he was a friend of my father,” Clark tells him. “I didn’t see many strangers, out on the farm – Smallville really is a small town – so I was a bit suspicious, and asked him how he knew Pa. He told me he meant my biological father.”

“This guy was from… Krypton too?” Dick guesses, struggling to remember the name of Clark’s home planet. Clark nods.

“I knew I was adopted, of course. And I’d wondered about my biological parents. When I asked him, he said – he said the last time he saw my father, right before my parents died, he promised him that he would find me, and take care of me. He told me that he’d been looking for me for a long time, across the stars,” Clark pauses for a moment. “I asked him what he meant. And he told me that my ship had been caught in some sort of meteorite when Krypton exploded, and he wasn’t able to track it.” Clark lets out a little laugh. It isn’t a happy one. “And that’s how I found out that my biological parents were both dead, that my entire planet was gone, and only a handful of Kryptonians had survived, across all of time and space. That’s how I found out that I was an alien.” Clark spits the word like a curse.

“What?” Dick says, not quite sure how to process everything Clark just shared with him. “But your abilities – you said you were strong and tough from a young age. How did your parents explain that?”

“They told me there was a meteor shower in Smallville when I was a baby,” Clark tells him, shrugging. “Years later, and there were still meteorites all over town. People who were exposed to them started to develop all sorts of abilities. I thought my abilities were the same; because of radiation. Until… he found me in that cornfield, I had no idea that I wasn’t from Earth, that I caused the meteor shower. Or rather, my ship did. Ma and Pa – they never told me. And I never thought to ask.”

“I’m so sorry, Clark,” Dick murmurs, knowing it is not nearly enough, but not sure what else to say.

Clark shrugs. “I know they loved me, and they were trying to protect me. Growing up, they told me all the time that I was their miracle; that they’d tried for years and years to have a baby, and I was a gift. But they lied to me; I thought that maybe they were ashamed that they didn’t have a perfect, human child. I was so angry. I started skipping school a lot, and I refused to do chores, and I spent all my time with… with him. His spaceship had a bit of a rough landing, and he was working on fixing it. He let me help. He said it was beyond his abilities to get it to fly again, but if he could fix the communications system, he had friends – other Kryptonians – that would come to Earth…” Clark trails off, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“What happened?” Dick asks. He knows by Clark’s expression that there can’t possibly be a happy ending to this story.

“I trusted him. I idolized him. So much that I started to listen to his heartbeat. And one day, when I was at school, I heard it speed up. A lot. I was a little worried about him, so I focused my hearing, and suddenly I could hear his voice. He had gotten the communications system on the ship working while I was gone, and he was speaking with someone,” Clark stops for a moment, his brow furrowing. Dick waits. “I kept listening. They spoke about the glory of Krypton, and I was hanging on every word. And then - and then they spoke about conquering Earth. And he – he told this other person that he found me, just like he’d promised my father he would. And then he reminisced about killing both my parents. It was a fond memory of his, apparently.”

“Clark…” Dick has no idea what to say. He lost his parents; he knows how painful that loss is. But their murderer never pretended to be his friend afterwards.

“I was heartbroken. I’d only known him a few months, but I felt almost as if I’d lost another father. And I had no idea what to do. He was a grown man, and an experienced fighter; he wasn’t quite as strong as I was, but it seemed like he was getting stronger every day. How could I possibly beat him? And even if I could, what would I do with him? Turn him over to the government to be experimented on in some lab somewhere?” Clark shakes his head. “It all seemed futile. At first, I tried – I tried to distance myself from him, but he’d find me and insist that we spend time together. And I couldn’t say no. I don’t think he had any idea that I overheard him, but I was scared he was going to hurt me, or worse – Ma. Batman was still just a rumor back then, nothing more than whispers in the dark, and I had no idea how to contact any of the other heroes. So I just – listened to what he was doing, all the time, no matter where I was. And one time, when he was speaking with the other Kryptonian to help guide them to Earth – he mentioned that he was cloaking his ship, because he didn’t want any ‘Lanterns’ tracking him down.”

“Lanterns – like the Green Lantern Corp you mentioned?” Dick asks. Clark nods.

“Based on what he said, I figured they were some sort of space cops. So one day, when he let me help him with the ship, I disabled the cloaking mechanism when he wasn’t paying attention. And - it’s ridiculous, but there was an SOS button on the ship - a beacon for nearby ships with advanced enough technology. I pressed the button, and then I ran away, as fast as I could,” Clark tells him. “Almost right away, the Green Lantern assigned to protect Earth found the ship. They fought, and the Green Lantern won. He took the ship, and they left. I never saw either of them again.”

“Wow,” is all Dick can say.

“Do you know what the worst part was?” Clark asks him. Dick can only shake his head. “When I met him, I felt for the first time like things made sense – like I made sense. But it was a lie. All of it. He killed my parents. He didn't care about me at all. And even knowing that, I missed that feeling – I missed him. I cried hysterically when I heard the Green Lantern take him away. Ma asked me what was wrong, and I – I told her. All of it. And then she showed me my spaceship in the cellar,” Clark laughs wetly, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “She finally told me the truth, about how they found me. She told me she loved me, and she forgave me for all of it, and she was so proud of me. That Pa would be proud of me too, because I did a good thing, the right thing, even though it was so, so hard.”

Clark brings his knees up to his chest, buries his face in his knees, and starts sobbing, his shoulders shaking with the force of his cries. Dick reaches forward to comfort him. Clark leans into him just a little, still burying his face in his knees as he cries. Dick can hear him whisper: “I miss her so much. Every day. Sometimes, I try to listen for her – for the sound of her heartbeat, and her voice, and her laugh. And there’s – there’s nothing. I can hear so much, and I can’t hear her. I can’t hear her.” Clark’s breath hitches, and then he starts sobbing again.

Dick squeezes Clark as tightly as he can. “I’m here,” Dick says. “I know you miss her, but you’re not alone.” Clark nods weakly, uncurling enough to rest the side of his head on Dick’s chest. They sit there quietly for a while, Dick rubbing Clark's back gently and wordlessly offering whatever comfort he can.

“Sorry,” Clark says, using his sleeve to wipe his face. He doesn’t meet Dick’s eyes.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Dick tells him. “It's okay to grieve. I still miss my parents every day. So does Bruce.”

Clark nods. “And Jason,” he says softly. “I know. It’s just – it’s almost been a year. But it still feels like I lost her yesterday." Dick says he understands. Clark musters a weak smile in response. “I know you do,” he murmurs. “And – thanks for listening. I’m – do you have any other questions?”

Dick knows Clark is trying to change the subject. He lets him. But it wouldn’t feel right, asking him about Bruce now, when Clark seems so vulnerable. He decides to try to lighten the mood a bit. “My most important question: Is Alfred pestering you for your cookie recipes?” Dick asks with a conspiratorial smile, lightly bumping shoulders with Clark.

Clark smiles weakly, shaking his head and replying: “No, he doesn’t have to. I gave him all those recipes already.”

“What?!” Dick asks, holding one hand to his chest and one hand to his forehead, miming a faint and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed. “You gave away the Kent family secret recipes?”

Clark lets out a short chuckle at Dick’s theatrics. “Ma always told me that recipes were meant to be shared,” he says. “And besides, Alfred has been sharing some of his recipes with me, too.”

“Like what?” Dick asks, curious. He's a little surprised: Alfred tends to be protective of his recipes. (He isn’t too surprised: Alfred is usually protective of his kitchen, too. Clark seems to be an exception.)

Clark lists a few of Alfred’s famous dishes, finishing it off with: “Shepherd’s pie. And mulligatawny soup.”

That last one is Bruce’s favorite. By the blush spreading across Clark’s cheeks, he already knows.

Chapter Text

Dick and Clark stay up late, talking about everything and nothing; nothing touching on Clark’s parents, or Luthor, or Bruce. The next morning, when Dick sees Clark in the Cave for training, Clark acts exactly the same as always: warm and engaging and unassuming. He doesn’t mention their discussion in front of Jason or Tim, and Dick follows suit.

Bruce doesn’t join them for lunch or dinner. Dick doesn’t see him at all, until he goes down to the Cave again that evening. Bruce is sitting at the computer in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back. Dick walks over and leans against the desk next to where Bruce is sitting. He doesn’t quite loom over Bruce, but he doesn’t not loom over him, either. (He doesn’t kid himself that he intimidates Bruce at all, but he’ll take any advantages he can get.)

“Roman Sionis,” Dick says, watching as Bruce’s lips harden into a grim line. He doesn’t look away from the monitor or otherwise respond. “You think he hired Deadshot?”

Bruce swivels the chair to face Dick. “Clark didn’t tell you,” he says after a moment. It is more statement than question.

“No,” Dick confirms anyway. “Sionis was at the restaurant yesterday. I looked into him. His parents died in a house fire about a year ago. Obviously suspicious, but the fire inspector almost immediately ruled it an accident. He took over the family business; ran it right into the ground. WE signed a contract to acquire it right before Thanksgiving. He has means and motive – and the timing is suspicious.”

“We grew up in the same circles,” Bruce tells him. “He never liked me.”

Bruce stands up abruptly. Dick looks up at him, steadily maintaining eye contact, despite the fact that it is now Bruce who is not quite looming. This conversation is important, and he refuses to back down. (When Dick was younger, he wished every day to be as big and tall and strong as Bruce; he’s still resigning himself to the likelihood of that never happening. But Dick knows he’s just as stubborn as Bruce; it’s one of the reasons they butt heads so much.)

“And you never liked him,” Dick guesses, reading Bruce’s expression.

“No, not particularly,” Bruce confirms. He doesn’t say anything else, turning away from Dick to grab a grappling gun from one of his workbenches.

Dick follows him. “Murder for hire still seems like an extreme reaction to buying his company. Doesn’t he stand to make millions with the sale?” Dick asks.

Bruce shakes his head and turning back to look at Dick. “His shares are worth millions, but he’ll never see the money. He’s deeply in debt, and his creditors will make sure of it. One of the conditions for closing the deal is that he resigns from any position with Janus Cosmetics.”

Dick whistles. “So he hired Deadshot to kill you, hoping – what? That WE would back out of the deal and he could find another buyer who would keep him on?” he queries.

“You’re giving him credit for having a plan. I don’t believe it was quite that thought out,” Bruce replies with a wry smile. “He doesn’t have the money to pay an assassin like Deadshot. If he’d succeeded in killing me and Sionis refused to pay…”

“Deadshot would have killed him,” Dick says, mind racing with the implications. “So what – he was angry and wanted you dead, no matter what?”

Bruce nods. “I don’t have any proof – at least, nothing Batman can take to the police. But Clark has been listening in; he set up a meeting with Deathstroke down by the docks tonight.” Bruce slips a few trackers and listening devices into his utility belt.

“Shit,” Dick curses, rubbing his face. “Do you need backup?” Deathstroke is not an opponent to treat lightly; not even for Batman. Dick doesn’t particularly want to suit up as Robin again, but he doesn’t want to sit in the Cave worrying, either.

“Just surveillance tonight; Oracle will be monitoring on comms,” Bruce tells him, pulling on the cowl and walking away from Dick again, this time towards the Batmobile.

“If Clark is monitoring Sionis, why does Batman need to listen to their meeting in person?” Dick asks, following after him again. Bruce presses a button on his utility belt, and the doors to the Batmobile lift up.

“Clark’s hearing isn’t evidence,” he replies, slipping behind the wheel. “I need a recording to give the police; otherwise, Sionis will just be free to try again.” He starts the Batmobile with a touch, and the doors come down, cutting off their conversation. Dick can only watch in frustration as the Batmobile pulls out of the Cave.

“Goodbye to you, too,” Dick calls after him sarcastically. He jumps when Clark suddenly materializes next to him.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Dick says, taking a deep breath and making a conscious effort to calm down. He’s sure Clark can hear his heart racing. “You didn’t scare me – just surprised me a bit. I’m too on edge; I hate that he’s going out against Deathstroke without backup. He says it’s just surveillance, but if he has to get close enough to plant a listening device, there’s a decent chance it comes to blows. Maybe Robin should…” Dick trails off when Clark puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“That’s not what Bruce would want, and I know it isn’t what you want, either,” Clark says, looking at him with a serious expression. Dick shrugs Clark’s hand off.

“How would you know?” Dick asks, perhaps a bit petulantly.

“Because you told me – you want to make your own way,” Clark tells him. “And I know you’re worried, but I’m keeping an ear out. I can be there in a jiffy, if he needs backup. But I think he can handle this. You know why?” Dick shakes his head. “Because he’s Batman!” Clark finishes in an absolutely perfect imitation of Batman’s low growl.

Dick blinks, his brain still trying to process Batman’s voice coming from Clark’s lips. “How – how did you do that?” he asks.

“Precise muscle control,” Clark tells him, still in Batman’s low growl. “Plus – I have a pretty good ear.” He finishes in a perfect imitation of Tim’s voice. It surprises a laugh out of Dick.

“Don’t – don’t do that,” Dick says, lightly Clark on the shoulder, lightly; Clark rolls back with the hit anyway. “That’s…” he trails off, unable to put it in words.

“Weird?” Clark offers with a sheepish smile and a shrug. “I know. But my Ma used to laugh so hard she cried when I imitated some of the ladies in her bridge club, and I thought you could use a laugh.” Dick nods, and they walk back over to the computer, watching the feed from the Batmobile as it maneuvers the streets of Gotham.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were helping Bruce investigate Sionis?” Dick asks suddenly.

“Bruce asked me not to,” Clark tells him. “He wants you to be able to relax and enjoy your life, without the burden of being Robin.”

“What makes you think that?” Dick snorts.

“He told me,” Clark says, matter-of-factly. “I know – I know you two don’t always get along, but Bruce still loves you and wants the best for you, Dick.”

“He told you?” Dick repeats in disbelief. Clark blushes and shrugs, muttering that they talk sometimes when Clark can’t sleep. Dick narrows his eyes. “You told me you don’t need to sleep more than a few hours a week.” His tone is accusing; Clark winces. “Well?” Dick presses.

“Um… a few weeks ago, after Bruce invited me to stay at the Manor over winter break, I wanted to make sure he was really okay with it – that he didn’t feel forced by you and Jason. Bruce asked for my help then. And, um.”

“Those nights I didn’t see you in the room. I thought you were just getting in after I fell asleep and leaving before I woke up…” Dick trails off, thinking back over the last couple weeks before finals ended.

“Uh, yeah – I was here,” Clark says. “On nights I didn’t feel like sleeping, I’d run to the Cave. I’m sorry – I should have told you. But you were really stressed out and busy with studying for finals. I never lied about it, but – that’s no excuse, I know I should have told you.”

“Jesus, Clark,” Dick mutters, running his fingers through his hair. He wonders how many times Bruce and Clark met up, what they were doing – he pushes the thoughts away. He needs to focus on the here and now.

“I’m sorry,” Clark says again. They stand there in silence as Dick gathers his thoughts, Clark fidgeting awkwardly next to him.

“I’m not mad,” Dick tells him after a while. “I wish you would have told me, but – I’m not mad. I knew there was something going on with you and Bruce, and I didn’t ask because… well, a part of me didn’t want to know.”

“T-there’s nothing going on,” Clark replies with wide eyes. “W-we aren’t – that is, the dates really were for surveillance. I needed to get close enough to learn Sionis’s heartbeat and voice before I could focus on him from far away. I told you before – I know Bruce is attracted to me, but I won’t take advantage of that. I just – I want to help, however I can. Because it’s the right thing to do, and because you – you and Bruce, and Alfred and Jason – you’ve helped me so much. I know I’m not good enough for him. I know I – maybe I go too far sometimes, playing into his attraction, but I w-wouldn’t…”

“Clark,” Dick interrupts. “You’re good enough for anyone. And Bruce isn’t just attracted to you – he really likes you. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you?”

Clark blushes. “He’s a really good actor, and he needs to sell it for the cameras,” he replies, not meeting Dick’s eyes.

Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not just on your dates – in general. He’s – I’ve never seen Bruce look at anyone the way he looks at you. He really likes you,” Dick tells him. It’s an understatement; Bruce is besotted.

“Really?” Clark asks, a bit incredulous.

“Really,” Dick assures him.

“Would you – do you have a problem with it?” Clark queries uncertainly.

“Not if you don’t,” Dick admits. “That’s why I gave you the graphite. It’s your choice; you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“What if I do? Want t-to?” Clark asks him, stammering a bit. “I’m still not sure he really – and you’re – you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And he’s your dad. I won’t – if you have a problem with it, I won’t.”

Clark doesn’t specify what he won’t do; but Dick knows. If he tells Clark that he isn’t okay with Bruce and Clark being together, he knows Clark won’t let anything real develop between the two of them. Dick is tempted. (So tempted.) But – Clark seems to really like Bruce. And Dick knows that Bruce could do – has done – way worse than Clark. In fact, Bruce probably can’t do better.

Dick sighs again. “You should do what makes you happy,” he tells Clark. “I don’t – it’ll take me a while to get comfortable with you two together, but I don’t have a problem with it.” He isn’t lying, though he’s perhaps playing down his discomfort a bit.

“If you’re sure?” Clark asks, smiling at Dick tentatively, his posture relaxing.

“I’m sure,” Dick assures him. He knows it’s what Clark needs to hear. Clark gently bumps shoulders with him.

“This – um, would this be a good time to tell you that I’m going to Bruce’s New Year’s Eve party? He – um, it’s another fake date, for the mission, and I’m still not convinced that Bruce likes me, like that, but maybe…” Clark trails off. Dick refrains from rolling his eyes. Bruce thinks he’s so smooth, telling Clark that everything is for the mission. (Dick knows better.)

“That’s fine,” Dick tells him. “It’s at the penthouse this year, right?”

“Yes. You aren’t invited?” Clark asks him curiously.

“No kids allowed for the past few years,” Dick replies, shrugging. “I used to go when I was younger. One year, someone spiked the punch, and me and a few society kids got pretty drunk. Bruce was not happy.” Clark hums thoughtfully in response. “You should go, try to have a good time,” Dick tells him. “And it’s okay if it isn’t a fake date. Promise.”

Clark smiles brightly and pulls him into a brief hug: “You’re a great friend, Dick Grayson.”

Well, he’s trying his best, anyway.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s mission goes smoothly; he’s able to plant both a tracker and listening device on Sionis. At least, that’s what Babs tells him. Dick hasn’t been able to get Bruce alone long enough to talk about anything since he left the Cave in the Batmobile.

On Saturday night, Alfred pulls the limo around, and Dick, Jason, and Tim all gather to see Bruce and Clark off to the party. Bruce is waiting in the foyer, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo. Clark walks down the stairs to meet them, dressed in his own tuxedo; one tailored exquisitely to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders and his slim waist. (And Dick imagines the view is just as stunning from behind.)

Bruce’s jaw basically drops when he sees him. Dick doesn’t blame him. Clark hasn’t tied his bow tie yet, his shirt isn’t fully buttoned, and his hair is artfully tousled. (He looks like sex.)

“Wow,” Jason murmurs, the first to break the silence. “You look really - nice.”

“You clean up good, Kent,” Dick agrees, finding his own words. Tim nods.

Clark smiles at them brightly. “Thanks, guys.” He turns those blue eyes to Bruce, who is still just staring at Clark. Dick elbows him subtly.

Bruce licks his lips (and apparently gathers his wits). “You look stunning,” Bruce breathes.

“T-thanks,” Clark replies, blushing. “I – you too.” Bruce looks pleased at Clark’s response.

“Thank you, Clark,” he says. “When we walk in together, everyone will be seething with jealousy to see you on my arm.”

Clark ducks his head shyly. “I – um, stop teasing,” he pleads, shooting a look at Dick, Jason, and Tim, as they stand there and watch on with fascination.

“I wasn’t teasing,” Bruce says, then switches gears when Clark just blushes a deeper red. “Do you need help with your bow tie?”

Clark nods, an embarrassed look on his face as he holds up the bow tie. “I couldn’t get it to sit right,” he tells him. “Do you think – maybe Alfred could help?”

Bruce smiles softly, his expression fond as he looks at Clark. “I’ll help,” he offers, pulling the bow tie from Clark’s hand. He steps forward into Clark’s space, and closes the two buttons by Clark’s throat; then he ducks his head, slipping the bow tie around Clark’s neck and tying it perfectly. He runs his hands down Clark’s lapel. After a moment or two, he steps back, letting his hands drop to his sides. Bruce and Clark stare into each other’s eyes. Dick shifts uncomfortably; clearing his throat to remind them they aren’t alone.

“Right,” Clark says, blinking and breaking eye contact with Bruce. “Alfred is probably waiting. We don’t want to be late.”

Bruce laughs. “It’s my party; they’ll wait,” he assures him, before turning to Dick, Jason, and Tim. “Be good, boys. And no need to wait up. We might not be back until late.”

They watch as Bruce opens the door for Clark and guides him to the limo with a hand on the small on his back. (And Dick was right: the view is just as stunning from behind.) They close the door when Alfred pulls out of the driveway.

“I’ve watched porn with less eye fucking than that,” Jason says, breaking the silence. Dick gives a strangled laugh, before gesturing to Tim and hushing him. Tim just sighs.

“I’m 12, not two,” he says. “I know what porn is.”

“I – uh, yeah, new subject,” Dick tells them. “Alfred left us snacks; why don’t we go watch some TV, and then we can see the ball drop?” Jason rolls his eyes, but Tim agrees, so they go.

* * *

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

It’s officially 2023.

And Dick is sitting in the theater room with Jason and Tim. “Happy New Year, guys,” he says. Jason nods absently, playing around on his phone. Tim murmurs it back, half-asleep. He turns the television off and encourages Tim to go to bed; when he turns around, Jason is already gone, leaving Dick to clean up the mess left behind. (Dick hopes the rest of his year is more exciting than this.)

His phone rings; it’s Babs calling. Dick smiles and picks up with a “Happy New Year, Babs!”

“Ah – um, yeah, Happy New Year,” Babs tells him; he can hear people talking and yelling and screaming in the background. Not a great sign, considering she was at the party with Bruce and Clark tonight. “That’s – not actually why I’m calling. Batman just saved Bruce from being sliced in half by Deathstroke. He literally dropped down from the ceiling and got between Deathstroke’s sword and Bruce. The sword practically bounced off him. And then Batman snapped it in half like it was nothing, pretty much Vulcan nerve pinched the guy, tied him up, and dropped him in front of my dad like a belated Christmas gift.”

“Um… yeah, that Batman. Never know what he’s going to do next,” Dick says nervously.

“Oh, and then he literally disappeared. Not into shadows or with a smoke bomb – in full lighting, he went from there one second, to just gone the next. Ah, and there’s Clark now, fussing over Bruce,” Babs pauses, and the sounds goes muffled for a few moments. “He was in the bathroom. Lucky him, missing all the commotion,” Babs tells him, her voice sweet as sugar. “We will be having words, Richard John Grayson.”

Dick winces.

“Tomorrow?” he replies, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Tomorrow,” Babs agrees. “Oh – shit.”

“Is everything okay?” Dick asks her, but she doesn’t respond. And then he hears gunfire. One shot. Two. Three. “Babs?! What’s going on? Babs!”

He can hear people screaming, but Babs doesn't respond. And then for a few terrifying moments, all Dick can hear is his own heart pounding, and his own panicked breathing. He rushes out of the theater and towards the Cave. This is a job for Robin; not Dick Grayson.

“Babs? Answer me if you can!” Dick demands, as he pushes the clock hands to the right position and starts down the steps to the Cave.

“I’m fine,” Babs tells him, her voice a bit shaky. “We’re – all fine. Sionis had a gun; Clark tackled him. Everyone is okay. He didn’t hit anyone. Party’s over, though,” she finishes in a calmer voice, her tone wry.

Dick takes a deep breath, willing his heart to calm down. He turns around and walks back up the stairs, and out of the Cave. “Everyone’s okay?” he asks, just to hear Babs reassure him again.

“No injuries. But I have to go now,” Babs tells him. “We will talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dick agrees. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Tomorrow,” Babs repeats, and then she hangs up. Dick sits in the foyer alone, his head in his hands. He’s not going anywhere until Bruce and Clark are home.

His phone pings a few times, but he ignores it. After a few minutes, someone sits next him, so close that their shoulders brush. “Clark texted me; they’re on their way back.” It’s Jason’s voice.

Dick nods, still not looking up.

“Clark says no one got hurt,” Jason says, bumping their shoulders together. “And the police arrested Deathstroke and that Roman guy who hired him.” He sounds excited.

“I heard the shots, and Babs didn’t answer right away,” Dick tells him quietly. “I wish I had been there.”

“Clark was there. And you brought him home. So, in a way, you were there for them?” Jason replies. He’s clearly trying to be comforting. “Though maybe you don’t like to think about it – I know it embarrasses you, your dad stealing your boyfriend and all.”

Jason’s voice is teasing, so Dick responds in kind: “I told you he wasn’t my boyfriend. And you didn’t have a chance either, not with Bruce around.” He leans into Jason, who squawks out a protest but doesn’t try to hit him. (He’ll take it as a sign of progress.)

“Well, if he isn’t going to be either of our boyfriends, maybe stepdad isn’t so bad,” Jason says idly after a few moments of companionable silence.

“Jason!” Dick says, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

“What?” Jason asks. “I see the way Bruce looks at him too. And I – I guess I don’t mind so much, as long as Clark sticks around.”

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere, little wing,” Dick reassures him. They hear the limo come up the driveway, and open the door to meet Bruce and Clark outside.

Chapter Text

Dick watches as Bruce climbs out of the limo before Alfred can open the door. He moves smoothly, no sign of injury that Dick can discern. In fact, he looks just as put together as when he left the Manor a few hours ago. Bruce turns around, reaching down to help Clark climb out as well. Clark is also (and unsurprisingly) uninjured, but he’s a bit disheveled; his jacket is over his arm, his bow tie is untied and loose around his neck, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing his collarbone and a hint of his chest.

“I’ll meet you downstairs, Alfred,” Bruce says, as Dick and Jason approach.

“Very well, Master Bruce,” Alfred responds, getting back in the limo and pulling it around to the garage. Bruce turns to face them; he stands so close to Clark that their shoulders brush.

“You’re okay?” Dick asks, as Bruce starts to walk towards the front door, a hand on the small of Clark’s back guiding him forward as well. Dick and Jason trail after them.

“We’re fine,” Bruce tells him, not bothering to look back at them as he opens the front door, gently ushering Clark to step inside and then following him.

Clark nods, turning back to give them a reassuring smile as Dick and Jason also step inside. “Nobody was injured, and Deathstroke and Sionis are both in police custody,” he tells them. “Dick – Babs told me that you were on the phone with her when Sionis started shooting. I’m sorry you had to hear that; I’m sure you were worried. I texted you as soon as I could.”

“What happened?” Jason asks, as they all walk towards the entrance to the Cave.

Bruce stops in front of the clock, raising an eyebrow at them as he moves the clock hands to the right position with his free hand; his other hand is still splayed across the small of Clark’s back. Dick hasn’t seen them stop touching since they got out of the limo. “You didn’t watch the video?” Bruce asks them, as the stairs down to the Cave are revealed.

“What video?” Dick replies, already pulling out his phone. He sees Jason do the same out of the corner of his eye.

Bruce starts to walk down the stairs, not bothering to reply. The stairs are too narrow for him to guide Clark down; Dick is distracted from his phone by the sight of Bruce grabbing Clark’s hand, pulling him along. Clark looks a little sheepish when he meets Dick’s gaze, but he lets himself be pulled. “One of the guests was live streaming the party?” he says.

Dick and Jason follow them into the Cave. Bruce sits at the computer, finally dropping Clark’s hand as he pulls up feeds of what Dick recognizes as inside of the Wayne penthouse, the outside of the building, a few nearby streets, and the nearest GCPD precinct. Clark doesn’t step away; instead, he starts to float next to where Bruce is sitting, crossing his legs in midair as he also turns to watch the feeds.

It’s a bit odd, to see Brucie Wayne, still in a full tuxedo, sitting where Dick expects to see Batman. (Maybe even odder than Clark floating next to him, still in his tuxedo pants and white dress shirt.) Dick focuses briefly on the monitors, noting that there are cops everywhere, and Commissioner Gordon is with Sionis at the precinct.

Dick looks back at his phone, ignoring the unopened texts from Clark and Babs and others to pull up his browser. He finds a video of the party and clicks on it. The streamer’s name is all too familiar. “Why was Edgar Cottingham IV even invited?” he queries. Jason must realize that Dick found the video; he puts his phone back in his pocket and steps closer to look at Dick’s screen.

“His father does business with WE,” Bruce replies, not looking away from the monitor.

Well, whatever the reason, it seems that Cottingham streamed the entire party; the full video has been uploaded and there’s more than four hours of footage. Thankfully, someone else has somehow already posted a highlights video, and Dick clicks on that instead.

The first thing Dick notices is that the music is very loud in the background. The second thing he notices is that the camera is focused on Bruce and Clark. Other people walk in front of the camera, partially blocking the view, but it is clear enough that they are holding hands; that Bruce is pulling Clark out of the room; that Clark is leaning in close and whispering into his ear. A male voice is narrating from behind the camera: “A minute until midnight, and Brucie and his boytoy are slipping away to party in private.”

“I heard Deathstroke!” Clark practically yelps, turning in midair to face Dick and Jason. Dick presses pause, ignoring Jason’s protests.

“Do you want to narrate instead?” Dick asks him, only half-teasing. Clark sighs, looking uncertainly at Bruce.

“I’ll meet you upstairs when I’m done,” Bruce tells him, looking away from the monitor. Dick watches as their eyes meet, some silent understanding passing between them.

“We’ll be in the library,” Clark tells him, before letting his feet touch the ground and encouraging Dick and Jason to follow him back upstairs. They settle on the sofa in the blue parlor. “I was listening for Sionis, and Deathstroke, and anything unusual. I heard someone scaling the side of the building. I told Bruce, and we stepped out so I could change into the suit. Go ahead,” Clark tells them, before gesturing for Dick to press play.

He does, and they watch as the Bruce and Clark on the video slip out of the room through a door that Dick knows leads to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The video cuts to another scene: Bruce walking back into the party by himself, looking mussed. The voice narrating the video is obnoxious, speculating lewdly about what Bruce and Clark were doing. Clark looks embarrassed; Dick mutes the video.

“Hey, I was listening to…” Jason’s protests trail off when he looks up and sees the expression on Clark’s face.

“The suit was hidden in a compartment in Bruce’s room,” Clark tells them, as they watch Bruce grab a champagne glass and toast the room. “I got changed, we waited a few minutes to make it look like we were – um, and then Bruce walked back into the party. I sped in and floated to the ceiling – you can’t see it from this angle, but there was a spot in the corner that was dark enough to hide, and nobody was really looking up, anyway.”

The video cuts to Bruce, standing near the corner that Clark pointed out, chatting with a few guests. Suddenly, Deathstroke comes into the frame, sword in hand and lunging for Bruce. The other partygoers scatter, leaving Bruce to his fate. The video gets shaky; whoever was recording seems to be scrambling for cover, but still pointing the camera in the general direction of the action.

And then – Batman, dropping down from the ceiling between Deathstroke and Bruce; the sword clearly hits him in the chest and bounces off. Deathstroke pauses for a split second; he’s fought Batman enough times to know that isn’t normal. He recovers quickly, but it’s too late; Batman grabs the sword (by the edge), and snaps it in two with no more effort than it would take a normal person to snap a piece of spaghetti.

Batman says something; Dick can see his lips moving. Deathstroke reaches for a gun. He isn’t quick enough; Batman reaches forward to grab Deathstroke’s shoulder and Deathstroke just… collapses. A moment later, and his hands are tied together with zipties, his weapons dropped on the floor out of his reach, and – Commissioner Gordon strides into the frame. Batman drops the unconscious Deathstroke at his feet, and disappears. There one moment; gone the next. Not even a blur…

Dick pauses the video then, looking up at Clark. “Batman is a demon?” he offers with a sheepish smile and a shrug, invoking one of the popular tabloid stories from when Bruce first suited up.

“Deathstroke knows B’s just a man; he going to be wondering if he upgraded the suit or somehow became a meta, or both,” Dick murmurs.

“I was sure to imitate Batman when I spoke,” Clark tells him. “But we didn’t have the chance to train me to act like Batman, instead of – me, wearing the Batman suit.”

“It’ll be fine,” Dick reassures him. “Maybe it’ll even make some others pause before engaging with B. I’m sure he appreciates that there’s now a video of Brucie and Batman in the same frame.” Clark nods, and Dick presses play again.

The video cuts again, this time to a side view of Bruce and Clark standing close together. Clark looks mussed. Really, he looks like someone just fucked him, and good. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is a curly mess; his jacket is nowhere to be seen, and his bow tie is crooked.

Dick knows that Clark must have changed quickly from the suit back into the tuxedo, and he recognizes cowl hair when he sees it; but he’s also sure that everyone else will think that it was Bruce who made Clark look like that. Especially because Bruce and Clark are standing so close, staring into each other’s eyes, murmuring softly.

Suddenly, a man (Dick recognizes Roman Sionis from his research) walks into the video from behind Bruce. He draws a gun. Clark pushes Bruce to the side and – the video gets blurry and cuts out.

“I saw Sionis’s gun when Bruce and I first got to the party. I told Bruce, and he said Sionis would probably try to attack directly when Deathstroke failed to kill him. After I changed out of the suit, Bruce pulled me aside and put his back to Sionis. I saw him coming, and tackled him before the first shot. The bullets all went into the ceiling,” Clark explains. “We’re lucky he waited until he got so close before he pulled out the gun and fired. I didn’t even have to use my speed, really.” Clark pauses for a moment. “It may be helpful to rewatch the last few seconds with sound?” he suggests.

Dick nods, going back a few seconds and un-muting the video before pressing play again. The male voice narrating the video is commenting that Clark looks like he’s just been fucked, and then someone screams “gun!” as Sionis enters the frame, and the male voice narrating curses and there’s a crash as the video gets blurry and cuts out again – but it is still recording sound. One shot. Two. Three. People are screaming.

The video cuts again, this time to Bruce and Clark embracing. Bruce’s hand is in Clark’s curls, and he ducks down and – kisses Clark’s nose. Clark blushes and smiles. Bruce smiles back at him, before grabbing his hand and pulling him from the room. The video cuts out.

“We – um, we needed an exit strategy?” Clark offers, looking uneasily at Dick and Jason. He isn’t a very good liar. Jason opens his mouth – almost certainly to say something snarky – and Dick elbows him lightly. Jason scowls, but doesn’t say anything, so Dick takes it for a win. They talk a bit more about the evening, and Dick lets them know that Babs will be visiting tomorrow with some questions.

“She’s going to want to know who was in the suit,” Dick says. “She knows it wasn’t me. And she knows the suit’s capabilities; she almost certainly knows that it was you, and she’s probably going to guess that you’re meta.”

Clark nods, frowning. “And Tim will know it’s me when he sees the video,” he adds. “Maybe – maybe I should just tell them the truth?”

“It’s your secret, Clark,” Bruce says, suddenly behind them. Dick and Jason jump, but Clark just smiles. “Dick, Jason – it’s late. Go to bed.”

Jason protests that he isn’t tired at all, but Dick recognizes the stubborn look on Bruce’s face and pulls Jason out of the room, leaving Bruce and Clark alone. When he glances back before leaving the room, they are standing close together; staring into each other’s others eyes.

Dick turns back around quickly and drags Jason upstairs. There’s nothing for them to see there. (At least, nothing he wants to see there.)

* * *

The morning is spent scrolling through social media, reading the wild speculation about Batman, Batman and Bruce, Bruce and Clark, and on and on. There are some people speculating that Clark is Batman, but others point out that Batman has been around for years, and Clark is much too young. The Blark shippers are going crazy: there are GIFS of Bruce kissing Clark’s nose everywhere. A few people seem to think that Batman, Bruce, and Clark are in a love triangle, generally with Batman pining for Bruce; still others say the three of them are all in a relationship together. (They are more right than they know.)

There is even fanart. Dick clicks on one image: never again. He doesn’t want to imagine Bruce and Clark like that, let alone see other people’s dirty fantasies of it.

Tim is upset that he slept through the excitement, but it doesn’t take him long to catch up. “Speed, too?” he asks Clark, after watching the video. Clark nods. Tim looks thoughtful, but doesn’t press.

Babs joins them for lunch. Dick is lucky enough to already be sitting in the small dining room when Babs arrives, so she doesn’t get the chance to grill him before the meal. She shoots him pointed looks, from time to time, which he ignores. After some stilted small talk, the topic of conversation turns, of course, to the party the night before. “Lucky Batman was there, and that Sionis was such a bad shot,” Babs says in an amiable tone and to no one in particular, glancing briefly at Tim.

“I know Bruce is Batman,” he tells her matter-of-factly. “And that Dick was Robin. And you’re Oracle.”

Babs shoots a startled look to Bruce, who just sighs. “He’s smart. He figured it out,” Bruce says.

Tim looks at her earnestly. “I’ve known for years. I won’t tell.”

Babs looks a bit uneasy, but she nods and continues: “Are you going to tell us who was in the suit last night, then?” She looks at Clark.

They all do.

“It’s your choice,” Dick hears Bruce whisper to Clark. Clark musters a tentative smile for him, and then turns to them – mostly to Babs and Tim.

“It was me,” he says. “I changed into the suit when Bruce and I ducked out of the party at midnight. And, um – I’m not meta.” He pauses, shooting an uncertain look at Bruce. Bruce looks – god help Dick, Bruce looks encouraging.

Babs looks skeptical. So does Tim.

“I already know about your hearing,” Tim says. “And you admitted to the speed.”

“I’m not saying I don’t have abilities,” Clark tells them. “I’m saying I’m not a metahuman. I’m – I’m from the planet Krypton. My parents sent me here as a baby when the planet exploded.”

Both Babs and Tim look dumbfounded. Babs recovers first. “You’re an a-”

Jason interjects: “Extraterrestrial. Clark is an extraterrestrial.” He stresses the last word, glaring at Babs. She gets the hint. (Jason isn’t subtle.) Clark shoots Jason a thankful look.

“Do you have a spaceship?” Tim asks, with wide eyes. Clark nods, relaxing a bit.

“It’s in the Cave,” he says. Dick wonders when that happened. Tim pushes back his chair and scrambles to stand. “Woah, why don’t we go see it after lunch?” Clark offers. Tim nods excitedly, sitting back down. He picks up his fork and starts eating quickly, obviously trying to get to “after lunch” more quickly. The rest of them laugh light-heartedly before focusing on finishing their own meals.

After Alfred brings out dessert, Clark addresses the table. “We – Bruce and I – also wanted to talk to you about – us,” he starts, fidgeting a bit. Bruce smiles at him softly, and then grabs Clark’s hand and brings it to his lips. Clark blushes, but smiles at Bruce brightly.

Dick stares. He’s pretty sure they all do, except for Alfred; he just looks satisfied.

“Clark and I are together,” Bruce tells them, now holding Clark’s hand on top of the table. Dick notices that Bruce’s thumb is rubbing the back of Clark’s hand in a comforting gesture.

“For real,” Clark assures them. “Not for the mission.”

A beat of silence. Two.

“Congratulations, Master Bruce, Master Clark,” Alfred says quietly, with a small smile. “I hope you are very happy together.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce responds, and Clark echoes him, smiling.

“Me too,” Tim pipes up, and Babs adds her own congratulations. Bruce and Clark thank them, and then turn to Dick and Jason.

“Should I call you ‘dad’?” Jason asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. Clark flushes, and Dick elbows him, hissing that he doesn’t even call Bruce dad. “I’m welcoming Clark to the family!” Jason hisses back.

“Oh,” Clark murmurs, looking pleased.

“Even if this doesn’t work out, Clark will always has a place here,” Bruce says. Clark flushes again, turning to stare into Bruce’s eyes.

Dick wonders if they’ve forgotten that they aren’t alone. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “I also hope you’re very happy together,” he says, echoing Alfred’s earlier words. Clark smiles at him brightly, and Bruce nods and says, “Thank you.”

Jason breaks the moment by elbowing Dick and saying, sotto voice: “Yeah, Dick. Thanks a million. No, no – thanks a billion. If it wasn’t for you, Bruce never would have met Clark!” Dick elbows Jason back. Jason goes to hit him, but he stops when Alfred says “manners” and shoots them both a sharp look.

The conversation switches to other topics, but Dick doesn’t pay too much attention. He can’t help but notice that Bruce and Clark continue to hold hands. Bruce is smiling and relaxed and – he looks happy. Clark looks incandescent: he’s laughing and smiling brightly at everyone. They’re sitting so close together that their shoulders are touching, and they keep sending each other these little glances.

Maybe this isn’t the outcome he would have picked, but – as Clark laughs at a joke Jason makes, and Bruce stares at him, lips twitching in his own grin – Dick can’t be sorry that he brought Clark home to the Manor for Thanksgiving.