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“Is everything okay Supes?” Hal asks Clark as he watches the man pace back and forth by the entrance doors.
“I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe there’s a reason he’s never invited us to his birthday parties before,” Clark replies, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “What if we make him angry?”
“Angry is Spooky’s default setting,” Hal retorts. Upon seeing Clark’s glare he rolls his eyes and reassures him, “Bruce is a rational man. Even if he doesn’t end up liking the party, he will not hold a grudge against you. You’re just nervous. I get it, you want to impress him.”
“Yeah…you’re right. I need to cal—” Clark pauses his sentence as he hears the faint beat of Bruce’s heart in the driveway. “Hurry! He’s here!”
At Clark’s exclamation, everyone in the room scrambles to hide. Hal makes quick work of the dinner table, hiding under the table. From the corner of his eye, Clark sees Wally running into a nearby closet. Clark does not follow suit and stands by the door, ready to greet Bruce. Clark stands with his hand on the doorknob, his hands sweaty and heart beating wildly.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Upon hearing Bruce knock, Clark swings open the door. Despite his brain telling him to run, Clark smiles wide at Bruce, who is staring blankly back at him.
“Come inside, Bruce!” Clark shouts, stepping to the side to make room for Bruce to enter.
At the cue, the rest of the Justice League reveal themselves. A loud, “Happy Birthday,” rings throughout the room. For a fraction of a second, Clark catches sight of Bruce’s surprise. Bruce raises his eyebrows slightly and his eyes freeze in place. However, just as soon as it happened, Bruce’s face relaxes into its resting position— cool and collected. Clark feels a large weight lift from his shoulders; Bruce hasn’t gone on his tangent of confidentiality which means that Clark is in the clear.
“Don’t just stand there Spooky! Come, have a drink! Or play some games! We have some board games– Oh! And a pinata!” Hal says as he drags Bruce further into the room. Surprisingly, Bruce does not resist the contact nor complain about how childish the set-up is. Clark allows the remaining tension in his body to diminish and closes the door behind Bruce.
“Let’s play Clue! We know you love detective work, so we figured this game might be more up your alley,” Hal demands.
“Plus it’ll be an easy win for you,” Oliver remarks to Bruce as he sits down next to the pair.
“The board is already set up, so we can start,” Diana tells Clark, motioning for him to join everyone at the table.
Clark obediently takes a seat next to Diana. Before he knows it, the team is deep within the game. However, from the corner of his eye, Clark can make out Bruce’s frustration with the game. Hal seems to notice it too, curiously glancing at Bruce occasionally.
First, it starts with a fumbled piece. Bruce accidentally moves his piece over two spaces than he should’ve. Oliver teasingly reprimands Bruce with a “Hey, no cheating!” While no one seems to be upset, or care, Clark could still make out the intense embarrassment radiating off from Bruce. His face flushes a light pink and he squints at the board, offering a weak, “Sorry. I must’ve gotten confused.”
Then, Bruce begins to forget the rules. To Bruce’s credit, Clark muses, Clue is a very difficult game. He certainly wasn’t the only one struggling. Diana can barely keep up with her evidence cards; and, Wally still needs a constant reminder that no, he cannot move his board piece diagonally. Bruce’s blunder is well…barely a blunder. As Hal finishes his suspect suggestion, he expectantly waits for Bruce to disprove his theory. However Bruce doesn’t make any moves, he just stares back at Hal, confusion on his face.
“What are you waiting for Spooky,” Hal starts, “You need to disprove my theory.”
“Oh right…” Bruce starts, glancing at the cards in his hand, “Erm, How exactly would I do that?”
No one at the table seems to pay any mind to Bruce and Hal, who immediately rush to the rulebook for the directions. Those who are on top of the game are already sifting through their cards in case the lineup reaches them. Those who aren’t so sure as to how to play, are patiently waiting for Hal and Bruce to figure it out themselves. Despite this, Clark can hear the subtly acceleration of Bruce’s heartbeat and he could see the deep furrow of his brows. Hal, admittedly, isn’t holding up too well either as he confuses himself further with the rulebook. To see Bruce so…worked up over a game of Clue is unusual though. Even when Bruce doesn’t know how to do something, he never lets it show.
It seems that Bruce reached his breaking point though, as he suddenly rises from his seat.
“I’m sorry I have a call I have to make,” he murmurs, drawing a few confused glances in his direction.
Bruce doesn’t wait for anyone's approval though, and promptly walks away right back outside the door he entered from. The panic from earlier consumes Clark. Before he can truly realize what he's doing, he’s abandoned his cards at the table and rushes after Bruce. Once Clark is outside, he catches sight of Bruce sitting on the curb. Slowly, Clark walks up to Bruce, now realizing what a horrible idea this may be. However, Clark can't find it in himself to turn back inside. Not when he sees Bruce playing with the grass of the yard, clearly shaking.
“Bruce, is everything okay?” Clark asks, already anticipating the typical ‘I’m fine.’
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says instead, his voice cracking.
Clark freezes at the answer, his mind racing a mile a minute to figure out what Bruce was talking about.
“What…are you sorry for?” Clark asks, after a moment of silence.
“I keep ruining the game.”
Oh.
“You’re not ruining the game…Clue is notoriously difficult…” Clark trails off.
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be difficult for me. I don’t know why my brain is getting all jumbled,” Bruce mumbles into his arm, covering his face as if he’s ashamed of the truth.
“Bruce…it’s okay. We all feel a little tired sometimes.”
At those words, Clark could make out the slightest gasp of breath that Bruce let out. It was quiet, so quiet that Clark was sure that the only reason why he could hear it was because of his super hearing. Normally, Clark wouldn’t prob on Bruce’s physiological responses, especially since half the time Bruce didn’t even realize that he had his tells. However, Clark couldn’t leave Bruce to brood alone in the dark on a night when he wasn’t equipped to be the Bat or Bruce.
“Are you feeling little, buddy?” Clark gently asks, his suspicions confirmed when Bruce stubbornly refuses to look at him.
“I can tell everyone that you had an emergency, I’ll take you back home to Alfred,” Clark offers.
“No!” Bruce exclaims suddenly, startling not only Clark but himself.
“Okay, I won’t. What would you like to do?”
“I…want to enjoy my party,” Bruce shyly admits, “I haven’t had a party in a very long time. And you did so much for me. I don’t wanna leave…”
Despite the situation, Clark’s heart blooms at Bruce’s confession.
“Alright let’s get you inside sweetheart,” Clark says, brushing back the bangs clinging to Bruce’s forehead.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Bruce asks, biting his lip in anticipation as he looks at Clark.
“Of course it’s okay. Clue is a very big game, you’re too little to play right now and that’s okay,” Clark cooes, knowing that Bruce secretly loves to be babied.
Bruce blushes at Clark’s words, mumbling, “I pretended to be big, but I couldn’t for very long.”
“That’s okay sweetheart, you don’t have to be big anymore. Let’s go get you some food and something to drink,” Clark says, gently grabbing Bruce’s hand to lead him back inside.
When they entered the party once again, Clark immediately noticed that everyone gave up on the game. Wally just sent a shrug at Clark’s curious gaze. Bruce, clutched tightly onto Clark’s hand, still embarrassed by what happened with the game. Clark simply rested an arm around Bruce’s waist and pulled him close to price security to the boy. Bruce melted into the hold, surprising Clark once again. Bruce must be very happy, Clark muses, to accept his headspace and affection so easily. This is even more apparent the moment Clark sits Bruce down at the kitchen table.
Even in his big headspace, Bruce is not a talker. The same is true for Little Brucie, who prefers to hum and babble to himself. As Clark rummages through the fridge for something appropriate for a little one to drink, he could vaguely hear the soft cooing noises coming from Bruce’s direction. Clark glances back to Bruce, just to make sure that he was alright, to find Bruce sucking on his thumb and gently rocking himself back and forth. Clark resists the urge to take a picture or play with Bruce, instead, he sets his focus on the barrel roll juices that Dick left behind from his last visit. By the time Clark turns around with a juice in hand, Bruce is already nodding off.
“Hey buddy, you can’t sleep quite yet. C’mon, let’s go back out to the living room so you can say hi to everyone. After that, we’ll put on any movie you like.”
“Can we watch Zorro?”
“Yes, we can watch Zorro,” Clark hesitantly replied.
Bruce did not seem to notice Clark’s attitude, nor did he seem to realize what this movie meant to his bigger headspace. Clark didn’t push the topic any further though. If Little Brucie loved Zorro, who was he to deny the boy?