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If it wasn’t them, if it wasn’t two of the most powerful beings in the universe, then it wouldn’t have been heard. The softly creaking door would have gone unnoticed.
But it was them, it was Superman and Batman, and both of their eyes were open the second the doorknob was turned.
They glanced at each other; stoic faces clear in the dark this close. Clark’s loose hold on Bruce’s hip was immediately tight and protective. Bruce’s hands between them became white knuckled fists. But neither moved, neither alerted their midnight intruder that they’d heard them.
The tense silence was suddenly broken by shallow, shaky breaths. A few seconds later, the end of the mattress dipped slightly as someone climbed onto it.
In an instant, their battle stances broke.
It was Damian.
The boy remained by their feet, clearly trying to control his breathing. The exercise wasn’t going well. Bruce’s muscles shifted in preparation of him moving, but Clark gave a quick squeeze.
Let it be his decision.
Bruce reluctantly relaxed and they waited. They waited for what seemed like forever, listening as Damian quietly sniffed and hiccupped, feeling the mattress practically vibrate as the little boy shook.
Bruce was about to buck what his husband wanted and sit up, when Damian finally acted. Slowly, he crawled up between them, obviously trying to be careful of their legs. He paused at Clark’s arm still hanging onto Bruce’s waist, an accidental barrier to his apparent destination. Both Bruce and Clark expected him to lift it, to toss it back towards Clark’s body, but instead, he merely ducked underneath it, shimmying up between them until he reached the edge of their pillows.
Damian gave a relieved sigh as he collapsed into the sheets, slightly curling his body in the small space to try and get comfortable. He turned to face Bruce and, despite his half-closed eyes and the dim moonlight, Bruce could see the reflection of tear tracks down his son’s face. Worse, it appeared that, in the time between coming into the room and now, Damian still hadn’t been able to get his shuddering breathing under control.
The child peeked upwards only once, peering briefly at Bruce before craning his neck to look at Clark. The boy must not have ever been fully awake in the first place, as he didn’t seem to notice that neither man was actually asleep anymore. Despite that, Damian appeared to finally settle between them. Though his breathing never evened out, a few minutes later, Bruce could tell he was asleep, however uneasily. After a moment, Bruce glanced up, but Clark didn’t meet the gaze. Instead, he was still staring down at the child between them in worry.
“Nightmares.” It wasn’t a whisper. It was barely even a breath. But Clark nodded in acknowledgement anyway.
“Does he get these often?” Clark asked quietly, gently trying to situate the blanket around the new arrival.
Bruce shrugged, watching as Damian’s fingers twitched, his arms slowly starting to reach out. “Not as often as you’d think, given our line of work.”
“Does he come to you about them often?” Clark continued. “Because I’ve never…”
“He claims he doesn’t want to disturb us.” Bruce responded with a wistful smile. “He does sometimes, when you’re not here. But normally he goes to Dick if he can.”
“Well. At least he has options, I suppose.” Clark almost sounded like he was sulking. Damian’s hands suddenly lashed out, clinging to Bruce’s wrist and palm. A few seconds later, Bruce gave a small grunt of pain, and Clark smelled blood. But Bruce didn’t pull away, didn’t grimace. Instead he just used his free hand to run across his son’s hair. “…You okay?”
“He’s a strong kid.” Bruce responded nonchalantly. But once more, Clark could feel the tightening of Bruce’s abdomen muscles under his fingers. Tenderly, Bruce sighed. “Stronger than a lot of people think.”
“Uh-huh.” Clark hummed as Damian jerked, letting out a startled gasp. His nails dug deeper into Bruce’s skin. “He’s hurting you.”
“It’s fine.” Bruce said quickly. He leaned down, kissing Damian’s forehead. “It’s…it’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“Bruce, I mean…” Clark huffed. “He’ll feel bad. When he wakes up.”
“If this is what he needs. If this’ll get him through the bad dreams,” Bruce ground out, clearly determined. “Then it’s fine.”
Clark couldn’t stop the grin on his face. Bruce and his kids, what a sight. “Here,” he stated. “Let me.”
He let go of Bruce’s torso and reached up to Damian’s trembling, clutching hands. Gently, he wedged his fingers underneath Damian’s, letting the boy curl his hands around them. As soon as the tiny nails were loose of Bruce’s skin, they latched onto Clark’s. Bruce hesitated only a little, but eventually pulled his arm back, rubbing lightly at the fresh cuts.
“Can you even feel that?” Bruce asked skeptically, watching for Damian to notice the change.
“It tickles, actually.” Clark chuckled, stroking his thumb across the back of Damian’s hand. Damian gave a slight whimper and held on tighter. “You’re right, though. He is stronger than I thought.”
“Hm.” Bruce sounded thoughtfully. “He’ll wake up before you.”
“Probably.” Clark agreed with amusement. “He’s just like his dad, after all.”
“He’ll be embarrassed.” Bruce continued. “He’ll probably refuse to talk to you – or me, for that matter – for at least a week.”
“Probably.” Clark repeated.
Bruce pursed his lips, hand resting on Damian’s cheek as his breaths started to slow. “He thought we were asleep. He won’t want us to know that he came to us to be comforted.” Damian’s inhales and exhales began to deepen. “…or that it worked.”
“Definitely not.”
Bruce just watched. As Damian’s nightmare ended, as Clark held that tiny hand in his, as Damian’s grip on his husband’s fingers never released. And…that wasn’t his job. They’d agreed, practically in their marriage vows, that they didn’t have to care for each other’s children. The other’s sons and daughters. It wasn’t a responsibility the other had to take on.
But here he was, here that freaking Kryptonian saint was, practically cuddled around the youngest of Bruce’s brood – arguably the one who liked him least – holding his hands and cooing softly at him, getting him through a nightmare like the boy was his own.
And Bruce…wanted to kiss him, ask him if he was okay, promise him he’ll make it up to him, buy him the fanciest thing he could think of. Because this wasn’t his son, this wasn’t his duty, this wasn’t hi-
“Thank you.”
Is what came out instead.
Clark looked over at him with a surprised blink before smiling and leaning his face against the back of Damian’s head. Damian, who suddenly seemed calm, and at ease, and okay. Damian, who was still clinging to Clark’s hand with both of his like it was his last connection to life itself.
(Suddenly Bruce wished he had a camera.)
“It’s what I’m here for, babe.” Clark murmured as Bruce shifted forward, taking both him and Damian into his arms. Clark’s other hand, which had been under the pillows this whole time, appeared by Bruce’s face, flicking playfully at his nose. Bruce turned into the touch, kissing at his palm. Clark hummed a laugh and closed his eyes as Damian let out a light snore between them. “Now go back to sleep.”