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There is a boy in Batman’s seat when Superman walks into the monitor room for his shift that night. Under normal enough circumstances the sight of this small child, dwarfed by the very chair he was sitting on, would make any member of the Justice League pause but, add in to the fact that the owner of said chair was standing right next to the child seemingly unbothered by the boy’s presence while staring intensely at the work tablet he was holding, not only made Superman do a double take but he felt his jaw drop open to gape at the scene.
The boy was quiet, watching the monitors with interest and generally seemed well behaved but it was highly unusual of Bruce to allow anyone into the Watchtower that shouldn’t be there and the more Clark watched, the more his suspicion grew. He didn’t think this was Batman in the middle of training another Robin but, even in the very unlikely chance it was, it still didn’t make sense for him to bring the boy here tonight. The kid wasn’t even in a costume to hide his identity for goodness sake.
Clearing his throat, and noting with some annoyance that only the boy had turned towards him at the noise, Superman gave a kind smile when he saw those small features light up upon seeing him.
“Hi, Superman!” The boy greeted him with an excited wave.
“Hey there,” Clark grinned and waved back. Kids being elated to meet him never failed to fill his heart with a sense of pride. On that same note, he couldn’t count the number of times he and Batman had teamed up together on missions only for it to be up to Superman to comfort the younger victims. Bruce had always been adamant that Superman was the hero that children needed to see afterwards, not Batman. It always made Clark immensely sad to hear.
But Clark watches in fascination and no small amount of awe as the boy sitting on Batman’s chair immediately turns to tug at the Gotham vigilante’s cape with a, “Look! Superman is here!”
His eyes widen when Batman’s response to this is reaching one hand over to gently pat the boy’s head, the hard line of his mouth and tenseness that was always present in his shoulders had eased into something much more relaxed when he’d turned to look at the young child. It takes an incredible amount of willpower not to start gaping again when the boy giggles--an adorable sound and even more adorable sight when it causes the slightest uptick of Batman’s lips--because this… he just-he hadn’t seen Batman this soft since the first time he’d been introduced to Dick, donning the colors of Robin and animatedly shouting about (while trying to touch) everything he could in this very same room several years ago.
(Not since the time before Jason had-)
Superman cleared his throat again, this time looking pointedly at his friend and coworker.
“Batman, who’s this?” Clark asks, trying his best to sound curious and not accusing. He felt a spark of irritation once more when Batman ignores him.
The boy, however, looks startled at his question. He’s silent for a few more seconds, big blue eyes even wider with surprise, before he erupts into more giggles.
“Silly, I’m Batman!” the boy cutely exclaims, getting up to stand on the chair three sizes too huge for him and raising his arms into the air. Batman quickly moves to steady the chair with one hand, placing the other on the boy’s small shoulders to keep him from falling off.
Clark’s first instinct to such a display is to laugh and walk over, unable to stop himself from ruffling the boy’s hair, “Sure you are, buddy.”
The way the boy furrows his brows and tries to scowl indignantly only serves to pull more chuckles out of him.
“I am !” he says, emphasizing his claim by stamping his foot. Batman hurriedly-but gently-lifts the boy from the chair to the ground when the movement causes the chair to sway too dangerously.
“Well, if my partner tonight doesn’t deny it, who am I to say otherwise?” Clark grins towards Bruce, but he gets no response in return. In fact, the Gotham hero has been eerily silent this whole time.
The thing is, for all that Superman doesn’t particularly like magic or the supernatural-a fact which is fair considering they were some of the very few weaknesses his kryptonian biology could do little to fight against-he had learned over the years he was, ironically enough, sensitive to their presence. As if it was a defense mechanism his body had adapted to (or maybe he’d had the ability all along and only discovered it later on), he’d come to know when there was anything other nearby, and Clark could never truly describe the feeling other than just the sense that something was off (not wrong exactly, as it would be unfair to the magic users of the League and, to a smaller extent, even Diana as well). He’d been feeling it the moment he’d come across Batman and the boy but had ignored it, as he usually does when he’s on the Watchtower, but there was a sinking realization that maybe his instincts hadn’t been wrong to warn him this time as he watches frustration take over the boy’s face, tears welling up in his eyes and bottom lip trembling at his words.
Clark’s abilities allow him to hear the growl that starts up low from the boy’s side but he doesn’t look over, feeling guilty at not playing along good enough and upsetting the boy but also dumbstruck because he knows those eyes--how had he not noticed before? The silver like blue was unique only to one man that Clark had ever known, even as they turn red rimmed, the first drops of liquid spilling over-
A furious snarl finally rips Clark out of his daze but he’s not quick enough to avoid the full force of the creature(?) wearing Batman’s costume as it lunges at him. There was a loud crack of the monitor room floor fracturing under the impact of their weights colliding with it but Clark couldn’t spare another second thinking about the repair cost when he had to focus his attention on the thing above him, baring its teeth-sharper than any humans could be-at him. Its hands are pinning him down by the shoulders with enough power to actually hurt and Clark has to tell himself not to panic when he tries to move them off without any success. The thing wearing Batman’s suit doesn’t even budge and then digs those fingers even harder into his skin at his failed attempt. Superman couldn’t help the small noise of pain that escapes him.
The pitiful sound doesn’t deter the thing of course and even seems to trigger some sort of predator impulse, it seemed, as the snarling became even louder and more violent. Then in a blink its snapping forward, mouth open as if to tear out his throat-!
“Don’t.”
It’s like time itself has stopped at that one command. There are monstrous teeth dangerously close to his neck but they don’t close the centimeters to their intended goal. Clark forces his eyes away from the white lenses of Batman’s cowl to where the little boy-to where Bruce had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tiny hands wrapped around one of those impossibly strong arms holding Superman down. There’s still tears as Bruce looks at him, fear and sadness and worry plastered all over his face that only serves to break Clark’s heart.
“Please, don’t…” Bruce says shakily and takes a shuddering breath.
The creature is off him in an instant, gathering Bruce in his arms and doesn’t exactly run with legs as much as he glides like a shadow over to the other side of the room. Clark has one second to be overtaken by dread at the sight, fearing that Bruce may about to be hurt or taken somewhere he couldn’t follow but then he stops midway into using his speed when he sees that the Batman like creature had tucked them both into the corner to curl himself over Bruce, both arms securely around the child and cheek rubbing softly on the crown of his head like Bruce was something so precious to it.
Clark doesn’t move, observing how protective the thing is of Bruce and takes a deep breath.
He needed to contact the rest of the Batfamily.